Third Saga: The Spirit Room
by Nabiki GMYW
Summary: "Excuse me...who are you?"


The Spirit Room  
  
By: Nabiki GMYW  
  
Brief summary: "Excuse me…who are you?"  
  
Disclaimer: Gargoyles belong to Disney. Everyone else is mine. So there. I belong to the pompous and the poorest. That's right —I'm a college student. Don't even bother to sue. Email me at paganj@caribe.net for comments. Takes place after both my First and Second Sagas. I tried to make this one as stand-alonish as I could, (sort of like a very late/very early Halloween special) but it helps to read the fics before it. Be forewarned though…Nabiki the amateur philosopher is about to strike and it ain't gonna be pretty.  
  
  
  
You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last.  
  
But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast.  
  
Yonder stands your orphan with his gun,  
  
Crying like a fire in the sun.  
  
Look out the saints are comin' through  
  
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.  
  
The highway is for gamblers, better use your sense.  
  
Take what you have gathered from coincidence.  
  
The empty-handed painter from your streets  
  
Is drawing crazy patterns on your sheets.  
  
This sky, too, is folding under you  
  
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.  
  
All your seasick sailors, they are rowing home.  
  
All your reindeer armies, are all going home.  
  
The lover who just walked out your door  
  
Has taken all his blankets from the floor.  
  
The carpet, too, is moving under you  
  
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.  
  
Leave your stepping-stones behind, something calls for you.  
  
Forget the dead you've left, they will not follow you.  
  
The vagabond who's rapping at your door  
  
Is standing in the clothes that you once wore.  
  
Strike another match, go start anew  
  
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.  
  
"It's All Over Now, Baby Blue", Bob Dylan  
  
With apologies to Bob Dylan and Joyce Carol Oats.  
  
  
  
1 PROLOGUE  
  
Waking up seemed so much harder now.  
  
He opened his eyes to find himself lying on the restroom's white marble floor in the west wing. The sink's faucet was still opened and water overflowed. There was a fairly big puddle of water on the floor. It already managed to drench part of his hair and his left arm. He'd been lying on the floor for quite awhile.  
  
He tried to get up but he couldn't. He felt too weak. He was lying on his left side and his legs was already asleep. So he stayed there for awhile. He felt so weak. He tried to move, he really tried, but he couldn't feel anything anymore. Only a very faint tingling all over his body, just enough to let him know all body parts were in place.  
  
The overflowing water of the sink made the puddle of water grow bigger and bigger.  
  
Even though he couldn't turn his face to the door, he heard someone trying to turn the knob. It was locked. The bathroom was locked; he'd locked it just before he fainted. He thought he locked it. Did he bolt the door? He had been about to faint and the restroom was growing black, but he thought he saw his own hand bolt the door before he gave in.  
  
The person stopped fiddling with the knob. He heard a knock instead, and a polite voice saying things he couldn't understand.  
  
He stopped paying attention anyway. Everything felt so far away. What was happening to him anyway? What had she given him? Horse tranquilizer? He only had a headache and now…  
  
Whoever was outside the door said something again but the voice sounded garbled and distant. He wasn't too worried. They would come and get him later on. They would have to open the door. It would take all night. But they had time, because he wasn't going anywhere.  
  
  
  
2 PART ONE  
  
He always suspected that the child's magical forte wasn't going to be that of a trickster like his uncle. "Nope," he told Mr. Xanatos, "Your kid is going to be a seer."  
  
Alex could see things. He could find his father's keys in a second or know when Goliath was approaching. This kid was going to be a seer. Not a very powerful fortune teller, mind you, but a fortune teller nonetheless, capable of seeing the future when he felt like it.  
  
He already astounded his parents by foretelling things that happened a few minutes later on. He accurately described how daddy dumped his wedding ring down the sink by accident. The clan was astounded; Fox was insulted. He also foresaw the chalice fall in the dinning room. Later that night, Brooklyn had charged in frenzy looking for Lexington and had knocked it off. It took the child only a moment to figure out where his mother had left the lavender perfume that she'd bought for tonight. Because part of his power consisted also in finding lost things. Car keys, trinkets… Alex was your man. He singled handedly found all the things his parents needed and helped them dress up for their big night on the town.  
  
At six o'clock everybody was gone. The Xanatos' were out for the night, the clan was on patrol, his wife was visiting her mother; and Hudson, Bronx, Alex and himself were left alone in the castle.  
  
He hadn't minded it then. When it was just Mr. Xanatos and himself; he'd been left alone before. At least now he had the old gargoyle, the dog and Alex to keep him company. He was, after all, in charge of the castle until the Xanatos family came back. The only person he truly wished he had around was Meg, but she was at her mother's. He liked his mother-in-law, but since Xanatos and Fox already planned their outing days in advanced, he had to stay in.  
  
Besides, Meg had insisted on him to stay behind on account of a headache he'd had in the morning. It was all gone now, for Meg had babied him most of the day. Of course, he didn't mind being babied or pampered or cajoled by her. Perks of being ill…  
  
"Here," she had told him when she gave him two white tablets a few hours before, "Take two every four hours and call me in the morning… "  
  
Pills, he thought and half-heartedly swallowed them down, I hate pills…  
  
But he felt better now, good enough for a night's fun with the remaining guys. Hudson and Bronx, well, they were never any fun to be around to begin with. They ran as fast as their legs could carry them the instant Puck mentioned he was giving Alex a magic lesson. "Spoil-sports," the fey had mumbled.  
  
It would be short stuff and him, then.  
  
Alex, however, didn't make a great conversation partner. He was just seven, and his young life revolved around the TV. Months earlier, the castle had suffered the wrath of Pokemon, but when they fell from grace, Alex moved on to Digimon. '-Mon' for '-mon', it was all the same for Puck.  
  
Lesson began right after sunset, when everybody left the castle. Everyone had scrammed at sunset.  
  
After an hour or so of torturing a Pikachu stuffed toy, Puck deemed the lesson over. All Alex did was talk about that horrendous thing; he wasn't paying any attention. As a teacher, Puck knew he was supposed to discipline the boy, but he didn't have it in him. That was daddy's problem. Uncle Puck was here to spoil the brat.  
  
Besides, Puck had his own problems to deal with. He stared down at his wife's hand-held mirror and barely recognized himself. He sighed like someone who'd gone through the same thing over and over again.  
  
"Uncle Puuuuck!" Alex began to yell, "Look at me! Can I touch the ceiling? Can I?!"  
  
Puck looked up from his mirror and snapped, "Get down from there right now, young man! If you lose control you'll land smack-dab in the concrete!"  
  
He hadn't even noticed Alex was practicing his floating spell and he was very high up, dangerously high. Stupid him had been staring into his mirror the whole time. Every time he looked at himself, he noticed more and more things wrong.  
  
It wasn't like Alex needed any more instruction to fly; he only needed more practice to be able to control it better. He dog paddled in the air instead of zipping like his mentor, something Puck had told him again and again to suppress. But after a few weeks of practice, he was already letting himself loose, gaining more 'style'.  
  
Of course, being a small child, there were times he lost control and plummeted sharply, and that's why he was never allowed to levitate himself too high.  
  
"Alex, I said down!"  
  
Alex sighed heavily, somewhat melodramatically, frustrated at the aloofness of his mentor. Oh, the injustices of life. He lowered himself until his tiny feet touched the ground. Then he ran to his uncle and threw his arms around his neck, "You didn't see me fly, didn't you? I could've touched the ceiling! I'm a big boy, I won't fall!" he playfully whined, and just as quickly changed the subject, "Whatcha doing?"  
  
"Nothing," Puck muttered, "Nothing at all."  
  
Alex sighed, and to answer his uncle's unasked question, he said, "Yes, uncle. Your eyes are looking green again."  
  
Puck blinked several times and looked down at the boy. He stooped down in front of him and said, "How green?"  
  
"The pretty green."  
  
"Damn…don't repeat the things I say, Alex… but damn!"  
  
Puck sat down on the bedroom's rug with his legs crossed, and stared into his hand-held mirror again. He blinked several times and his eyes shifted to the eerie blue he always favored. Alex never understood what that was about. "I'll tell you when you're older…" he always told the child.  
  
All Alex knew was that once upon a time, Uncle's eyes stayed blue all the time. According to the snips of conversations he managed to hear, three weird people changed all that. They gave him new magic and the magic gave him new eyes.  
  
Puck hadn't bothered to explain the whole situation, because then he'd have to answer even more uncomfortable questions. He'd tell him when he was older. Or he'd figure it out for himself soon enough. One of these days the kid will be strong enough to see the shadows I left in the castle that time. But not tonight.  
  
After the lesson, they sat around the boy's nursery and watched some tapes. But after two episodes of those horrible cartoons, Puck felt what could be described as nausea. "You know what!" He finally declared, "Why don't we look for Grandpa Hudson so he can watch to TV with us?"  
  
Alex enthusiastically accepted. Puck took his duty as mentor with utter seriousness, but he just couldn't take it anymore. Besides, Hudson would enjoy the company.  
  
As expected, Hudson and Bronx were in the TV room, but much to Puck's surprise, he was reading a book, not watching TV. He blamed Goliath for that; he had taught him to read a few years ago.  
  
Though gargoyles age half the rate as humans, it was clear that Hudson was getting old. Sure, he had his fair deal of adventures now and then, but he preferred that they came to him. Still, he was a force to be reckoned with. Puck still wouldn't like to be under the old gargoyle's sword any time soon.  
  
Still, when mentor and protégé charged into the TV room, Hudson welcomed them with open arms. Bronx, asleep in a corner, sprang to life, barked happily and wagged his tail for Alex.  
  
"What's the object of this pleasant visit, lads?" the old gargoyle asked.  
  
"A cordial invitation to watch videos with this handsome little boy!" Puck replied.  
  
Alex ran towards Hudson and sat on his lap.  
  
"Will you watch TV with us, grandpa? Pretty please?"  
  
Hudson chuckled and said, "Ack, lads, I'd simply love ta! Go along, then, put on them videos!"  
  
Hudson always agreed to amuse the boy; that's why he always made such an excellent babysitter. Might as well be Alex's real grandpa. What the heck. What's one more to the list of adopted uncles and aunts the boy had with the Manhattan clan?  
  
"Hey, old man, mind watching Alex for awhile? I can only take so much punishment…" Puck sighed as the cartoon's main theme began to play.  
  
"Don' worry about him, me and the lad will be fine." Hudson replied, "Right, Bronx?" The gargoyle dog gave an approving bark.  
  
* * *  
  
With Alex in Hudson's capable hands, Puck took a short breather. He headed to his bedroom with intentions of checking up on Meg. She was supposed to be there already. She'd promised to keep short the visit to her mother's.  
  
When nobody was in the home, most of the lights in the hallways and rooms remained off and the castle worked in an energy-saving mode. Only the essentials like security and cameras remained at full power, everything else was disengaged. Both the West Wing —where Hudson's TV room was— and the East Wing— where the bedrooms were— ran on that low-energy mode.  
  
That meant that the hallways leading to the bedrooms were completely dark at times. It was at moments like these when Puck really noticed how cold and creepy the castle had been at olden times. Wyvern Castle looked truly macabre that night. It hadn't been always like that. But no, cost-effective Owen Burnett simply had to simplify it.  
  
The hallway became a tunnel devoid of light other than the white lights installed at the bottom of the walls so you could watch the steps. The armed knights, the flower vases —he could only see their shadows against other shadows. He remembered when the castle had just been opened —he'd stumbled more than a few times with the knights.  
  
But that was a long time ago. He knew that castle like the back of his hand, if not better.  
  
Even blindfolded he could find each and every single room in that ancient castle. The kitchen, the armories, everything. He also knew where every gun was hidden, let it be behind flower bases or secret compartments inside the stone walls. He fancied he knew this castle better than Xanatos himself.  
  
He knew his room was third door to the left, Xanatos' room was at the far end to the right and Alex's room was far end to the left. The master bedroom and the nursery were across each other so that the Xanatos could run to Alex's bedroom in a few seconds.  
  
In the hallway itself, six iron knights adorned it, three against each wall. The seventh one was at the end of the corridor, the dead end.  
  
He didn't even bother with the lights. Not only could he see in the dark, but he also knew exactly where he was going. He went to his bedroom and locked the door behind him.  
  
Actually, this hadn't been his bedroom when Xanatos moved the castle in 1994. Since he'd gotten married to Meg, they decided to take a bigger room, the second largest on the castle. Originally, he'd been right next to Xanatos'. In a way, Puck was thankfully for the move. His masters' sexual Olympics had forced him to take a walk one too many times.  
  
Not only was it that they didn't let him sleep; it was that he honestly didn't want to hear his boss 'doing it'. Nobody really wants to hear those things. Especially a single guy that hadn't dated in years. He had felt his tinges of jealousy at times, but he forced himself to bottle them up. It would only get him upset and there was no room in Owen Burnett's life to be upset.  
  
Of course, now that he had Meg, the tables had turned and now they asked him to keep it down…  
  
He entered the bedroom and closed the door behind him. It was just like he'd left it. The bed was in the far side of the room to the left, and next to it was the night table. They'd completely forgotten to make the bed and half a sheet was laying on the floor.  
  
The two huge arched windows were wide open; a small brown desk was placed below each window. The wind that leaked through them made the small desk's many papers flyaway. His opened laptop was still there, still hooked to the wall's electric socket.  
  
The bathroom door was half-opened and Meg's favorite shoes were tossed next to the hamper, overflowed with dirty clothes. They really needed to call the laundry people that week. The walk-in closet was almost next to the bathroom and it was pretty big. The whole room was huge, very breathy, very comfortable.  
  
He flicked on the night table light and closed a window, since it was so cold out there. Then he slumped on the bed, took off his boots and speed- dialed his wife's number.  
  
"Hello, honey!" he exclaimed joyfully, "Where's my widdle love muffin?"  
  
"I'm right here at ma's, where else?" Meg retorted with a little chuckle.  
  
"I thought you told me you were coming home soon!" he mockingly whined, "We have the whole castle to ourselves, ifyouknowwhatImean…"  
  
She sighed over the line and said, "Sorry, Darling. I'm afraid ma's going through a little crisis here…she tried to buy a so-called magic book and they ripped her credit card instead…"  
  
Puck tried not to laugh too hard, "I guess she's in serious trouble…"  
  
"I'll say. A Sony entertainment system, a computer and a laptop have showed up in her bills. And a pair of socks!"  
  
"Ooh, the bastards!"  
  
Meg didn't sound so amused, "Oh, laugh at other people's misfortune, why don't you…? Don't worry, I'll be back as soon as I clear up this mess. Then we'll do whatever you want."  
  
He arched and eyebrow and smirked, "Reeeally? Then hurry up, hon— the night is young…"  
  
"…and you're horny, yeah, I gotcha!"  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"Hell, it's true…so I guess I'll see you then, ok, Darling?"  
  
"Right. Buh-bye!"  
  
He hanged up and tucked the cell phone inside his toga. What's the good of having a phone if you leave it halfway across the castle? He also left it on, just in case.  
  
Meg, his honey, his baby, light of his life, sugar in his coffee, woman he loved for reasons he still didn't quite understood. He expected a three month affair and got a marriage instead that hadn't gotten into any serious fights other than those times he did something unbelievably stupid.  
  
He was well aware of what a big gamble he'd gotten himself into and was sincerely surprised he'd gotten off it so well. Because he hadn't really thought, hadn't he? He had simply rushed into the relationship with arms wide open and hadn't considered the consequences, because for a moment, he'd forgotten everything had a cause and an effect.  
  
Thankfully, luck or fate or chance helped him survive what could've been a disastrous decision he couldn't have afforded. That he still couldn't afford.  
  
Even after one year and a half of marriage, he thanked his gods that dumb luck had dropped such a wonderful woman without him having to lift a finger.  
  
But someday, he occasionally thought in dark and gloomy days, I'm sure I'll pay for this somehow, that I'll have years of happiness and one day I'll wake up, take a shower, step out side and for some reason lightning will strike me dead, and some mocking voice will snicker, 'No good deed goes unpunished! Sucker!'  
  
He mentally chided himself. Now wasn't the time to get into pointless rhetoric.  
  
It wasn't like I had a choice, his worst side argued, We were duped. There was nothing I could do about it. When we learned what was done, it was too late to reverse the spell. It's not like it's a torture. I mean, I have all my powers restored. That's good…right? Sure, I almost went insane the first couple of times we tried it… The choice was taken off my hands. I never had a say in the matter. We never get to have a say in the matter.  
  
I'll never get used to this…  
  
Still, two speed bumps and several brushes with death later, he was alive, relatively well, and married to a woman that loved him.  
  
* * *  
  
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" the old man had asked, as he took little notes in the yellow notebook he always carried around.  
  
"Yes." he had insisted, "Why not? Why can't I get married?"  
  
(He didn't know what made him think of the old man and his office after so much time. He was surprised at the amount of detail he remembered: his office decorated in dull brown, a wall covered with diplomas and awards he'd received, and the fluffy brown leather loveseat he had learned to like.)  
  
As usual, the doctor wanted him to talk about his 'feelings'. The question still annoyed him to no end. Why the hell did he meddle in his business? He was a fifty-year-old man but relatively well preserved. He had a neatly trimmed whitish beard and dressed pretty decent too. He should be hitting on his secretary with that old song, but not him.  
  
"That's what you're paying me to do." the old man replied, always so deadpan.  
  
"I am not paying," was his usual response, "Please remember this is Mr. Xanatos' handiwork, not mine."  
  
The old man sighed and jotted a few more things in his yellow notebook, "You're my most difficult patient, Mr. Burnett. But knowing you, you're probably proud of it."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," he said, "You don't know me."  
  
(He was right in that account. The old man never learned about his true nature. The official excuse was 'the consequences of an accident', not a complete lie but, not a complete truth either. The old man knew it was there was more to it than a simple 'accident', of course. But no matter how much he probed, he would never learn the truth. He eventually settled with going around the facts and asking about 'feelings' instead.)  
  
"I do know you." the old man continued, "After almost a year together, you still underestimate me. Our sessions haven't been a complete waste of time."  
  
"They're a waste of time for me."  
  
"Liar."  
  
He didn't reply right away. "Can I go now?"  
  
"We still have half an hour left. And you haven't answered my question."  
  
"About?"  
  
"About the woman you plan to marry. Why do you want to marry her, for starters?"  
  
He thought about it and suppressed a smirk. "We're genetically compatible, we have the same goals and aspirations…" and we love each other…as much as two people like ourselves are capable of that emotion…  
  
"Liar. You just can't say it, can't you?"  
  
"All right…" he cleared his throat, "I'm marrying her because we're in love with each other and we're destined to be together. There. I said it."  
  
"How poetic." the old man retorted, "Now tell me the real reason why you're marrying her."  
  
His expression immediately hardened, "That is the real reason, Johnson."  
  
"Keep telling yourself that and you might believe it."  
  
Furious, he replied, "Who are you to talk? You divorced twice and you're always complaining about how the kids never call you… Why do you always tell me these things?"  
  
"Because you need to hear them occasionally! Bad enough you've always refused to talk about your family and you've never really told me the nature of that 'accident' you always talk about, but you've got David Xanatos running interference on your behalf! Don't think I've forgotten that stunt he pulled with the State Hospital. I would've dunked you head- first into the psychiatric ward if it hadn't been for him!"  
  
"You don't understand—"  
  
"No, I don't!" his tone dropped into a colder one, "Someday you're gonna have to explain to me the little 'accident' that landed you in my office, Mr. Burnett. You're gonna have to explain how my precious Venus de Milo replica levitated 3 meters off the ground. And —heh— one of these days… one of these days… you're gonna have to tell me who you really are, Owen Burnett…"  
  
"…if that's your real name…"  
  
* * *  
  
The worst times were when he appeared in his office in dark shades to conceal his eyes. It only served to make the old man suspicious about what was going on behind those sunglasses.  
  
It was ever worse now. In the last few months, he'd noticed that every time he changed to his fey form, gray streaks appeared in his hair and his eyes turned to a strange tone between green and geyser, something hard to describe. A brownish green. It looked ok, even beautiful, but it irked him to no end. It wasn't his eyes. He preferred his normal china blue than the mystical green. It just wasn't right.  
  
When he changed back to human self, he also saw some unpleasant side effects. His hair looked browner and his eyes also acquired that greenish- brownish coloring. It took him awhile to fix those effects. He was rather proud of that bright-blond hair.  
  
To make a long and tedious story short: three sorcerers once showed up in his doorstep and told him, "Here, take this, it'll make you more powerful than Oberon." He took the gift —well, to make matters more accurate, it had been more like a take-the-gift-or-else deal— and three brushes with death and one psychiatric hospitalization later, he realized if he used the gift, he'd go insane. He refused to use it. Ever.  
  
He learned, eventually, how to keep it together. He subjected himself to an elaborate set of mental locks, breaks and firewalls. As long as he left that part of himself still and alone, he'd be ok.  
  
He wasn't sure why this hair had begun to change, but he had a few ideas. Though he had taken painful cares to maintain the magic inactive for a long time, ever since he fought with Adrian The Idiot, his powers had been somewhat 'awakened'. He had used a large amount of magic in that night and he was feeling the aftereffects in his appearance.  
  
He hadn't understood back then, but now he realized how stupid had it been to wake that weird magic, even if it was an emergency and he had no choice. He'd forgotten the 'gift' those sorcerers had given him had been rigged with unpleasant side effects and he still didn't know how to dismantle them.  
  
Technically, he hadn't used all of it. Just a little part. If the Talisman —that's what he called it, even though he'd never seen the damn thing to begin with— was a wrapped birthday present, let's just say Puck had pierced a hole and shaken the box but hadn't unwrapped it yet. And because power was leaking from the little hole, his body was…changing.  
  
The changes were superficial. At least, he thought they were. Different hair and eye color aside, he felt no heavy changes. A few lines on Owen's face had vanished and he seemed to heal faster than usual, but other than that it was ok.  
  
Well, honestly, it wasn't ok. It worried him and a part of him thought it was cheating. If he refused to use the power as a fey, then he should avoid the miraculous effects it was having with his mortal body too. He missed that awfully heavy stone hand but he liked the ability to heal faster —and he wasn't sure how to stop it if he ever wanted it to stop.  
  
Pointless rhetoric, he thought, You always get so melodramatic when you've got nothing to do…  
  
When he was about to leave the room, something outside stopped him in his tracks.  
  
He was about to turn the knob and open the door when he heard a low screeching sound outside. He didn't open it, he just stood there very quiet, trying to pinpoint the sound. Cautiously, he put his ear to the door. It sounded like metal clanking against metal. It sounded… close.  
  
He took a few steps away from the door. But then walked right up to it again and opened it with one swing.  
  
There was nothing outside, but it was understandable, because the corridor's lights were weak and it was hard to make out anything.  
  
Puck poked his head out the door and inspected his surroundings. To his left, he saw the entrance of the corridor. To his right, he saw the seventh knight at the dead end. He blinked several times. The knight looked different somehow.  
  
His hand. Its hand was face-up. All the hands of all the knights were faced down.  
  
Well, he thought that was it. That knight had been there for years, and though Puck prided himself on a keen sense of observation, one can never be to sure. He assumed that was it because the sound it made, but for all he knew, it could've been the water pipes. Then again, the pipes hadn't sounded for years. So maybe it was the knight. Yes. It had to be knight.  
  
Puck shook his head. He was getting too worked up over this because… why? Was he scared? Hardly. Just startled. He guessed the knight needed some oiling. He made a mental note to tell Xanatos about that.  
  
  
  
3 PART TWO  
  
When he returned to the TV room, Alex was already through his third video that night. "Come on, Alex…" He said, "…time to go to bed."  
  
"But we were having fun," Alex complained, "Weren't we, Grandpa Hudson?"  
  
"If he wants ye to go to bed, ye better listen to him." Hudson chuckled, "Besides, 'tis almost 9 already. I hear good boys go to bed early."  
  
Alex pouted and mumbled, "I wish I was a gargoyle. Gargoyles never go to bed!"  
  
Puck smiled delighted, "Oh, kids… they're so cute at that age. Come on!" he fell to his knees and said, "Piggy back?" Alex jumped on his back and Puck got a good grip on him. "Say good night to Grandpa Hudson!"  
  
"Good night, Grandpa Hudson…" Alex repeated, still pouting.  
  
Puck carried his nephew back to the corridor he'd been a few minutes before. He halted at the very entrance and stared down the hallway.  
  
The knight hadn't moved again.  
  
He caught himself sighing relieved. Relieved about what? He was letting a stupid heap of metal get the better of him. He dismissed those thoughts and hurried to get Alex to his bedroom.  
  
They entered the nursery and Puck closed the door behind them.  
  
The nursery didn't look like a nursery anymore, but everybody still called it that. Through the years, the baby cradle had been replaced with racecar bed and all sorts of grown-up toys. Of all the rooms in the castle, this one looked the most modern. Wallpaper had covered most of the gray walls; it could've been mistaken for a boy's room in any suburb.  
  
Alex jumped off his back and started doing his nightly routine. He washed his teeth and face, put on his pajamas and hopped to bed. Then he stared at Puck expectantly and as usual, he asked for a bedtime story. This routine had gone on for so long it had grown stale. So for the sake of novelty, instead of instantaneously agreeing to his wishes, Puck replied, "Why should I read you a story? You know all your books by heart."  
  
"Come on, uncle!" Alex cajoled, "I like the way you read to me!"  
  
"Flattery will get you nowhere, young man!"  
  
"Please…? I'll let you read a short book, ok, uncle?"  
  
Puck arched an eyebrow and considered it. He looked towards the shelf and picked up the thinnest book in his sight. "A short book it is."  
  
The boy lay down on his bed as Puck began to read "Green Eggs and Ham" for the sixth thousandth time. Alex never seemed able to tire from it. His mentor was royally sick of it though. He only picked it because it was short and he could recite all the words by heart.  
  
After he was done, he closed the book with a small thump and said, "Time's up, short stuff. Time to sleep."  
  
"I guess you won't read me another story…" Alex sighed, "Another really, really short one…?"  
  
"No way, Smurf. I'll accept no more stalling. You've got school tomorrow…"  
  
"Why should I go to school? You teach me magic, why can't you teach me other stuff too?"  
  
"I don't think I'll make a good teacher for 'other stuff.' Besides, I gotta work for your daddy, don't I?"  
  
"I guess…"  
  
Puck kissed the boy on the forehead and tucked him in. "That's it for me, my prized pupil. I'm pretty tired myself."  
  
Alex squirmed under the covers and sighed melodramatically, "Ok, Uncle Puck. Nighty-night. Oh!" He turned to his uncle and added, "Be sure to leave the door open! It gets dark in here…"  
  
"Then why don't you let daddy put on your night-light?"  
  
"Because I'm not afraid of the dark!" Alex said defensively, which made Puck chuckle softly, "…Only little boys have night-lights! I'm a big boy! And I'm not afraid… it's just that it gets dark in here, that's all…"  
  
Puck smirked at him; Alex seemed to pick up most of his mentor's habits —all the bad ones. Like being to prideful to admit when he was outnumbered or scared of anything. The last thing he could relate too deeply; Puck also hated to admit he was scared.  
  
The night-light business had begun a few weeks earlier when Alex claimed that he 'saw things' move in his bedroom. He'd always been a precocious little boy, but these new incidents sort of confirmed what Puck had told his boss all along:  
  
"Yeah, Dave, I think your kid is going to be a seer. See the future, and who knows? Maybe see the past too. I'm sure he's only picking up stray thoughts at night, but if Alex is so worried, maybe we should get him a night light."  
  
Alex had loudly complained that wasn't necessary, that he was a big boy and he didn't need night-lights, though Puck knew his nights couldn't possibly be all that peaceful, all that untamed talent in him…  
  
Just last week, he said he saw a guy strolling around the halls. "He sorta looked like you, Uncle," Alex had told him. Puck wasn't sure what to make of it but it wasn't the first time he'd seen people. He remembered seeing a female gargoyle a few times, but her presence had been so faint he was surprised Alex noticed at all.  
  
The strange figure did startle Alex, but he refused the light. Puck thought he was finally getting used to hearing other people's thoughts. Alex was a lot stronger than Puck had initially thought, considering he put up with visions and that horrible knight in front of his room.  
  
Puck gave him a skeptic look and petulantly replied, "Oookay, short stuff, whatever you want is fine by me… " He turned off the lights and just when he was about to walk away, he poked his head back in, made a scary face and added with a mocking scary tone, "Don't let the bedbugs biiiiiiite…"  
  
Alex giggled and Puck left, leaving the door opened by just a little bit. Then he turned to face the seventh knight. Maybe he should've read him a bigger book after all. But reading him books every night had grown stale and he'd started taking it for granted. It happens even in the best of families. Besides, it wasn't even his duty to read him books, he had mommy and daddy to do it. But they didn't. Because they were always too busy.  
  
He didn't mind reading to the kid, but it felt odd to put so much effort into a kid that wasn't his. Or maybe what really bothered him was that the kid would never throw his arms around him and call him daddy.  
  
Man… he thought, I can't believe I said that…  
  
"Whatever," Puck muttered, then exited the corridor, with intentions of seeking his amusement somewhere else.  
  
* * *  
  
What amusement was that, he wasn't sure. With Alex in bed, there was nothing to do anymore. He made his few rounds around the castle in the interest of making sure everything was in order, but he soon grew bored.  
  
He found himself walking back to Hudson's TV room. There was nobody else to talk with. Meg wasn't coming back soon and he desisted of calling her again. She was probably on her way back already. The Xanatos he didn't expect back until after midnight; that was their way. But he was sure Meg would be back home any second now.  
  
His feelings about Hudson were lukewarm at best. They barely talked anymore. He did remember one time, a long time ago, that Hudson had provided invaluable help when he began fiddling with the 'weird gift' and ended up 'considerably shaken' for the lack of a better term.  
  
Those memories had the airs of a bad dream. Which is understandable, his better self argued, Spent two months in the land between the living and the dead… or was it three months? I can't remember a damn thing other than lots of shouting and being hauled away by nice men dressed in white…  
  
He just didn't remember. Nor did he care to remember.  
  
He soon joined Hudson in the TV room. Good grief, the old gargoyle could stay all night in front of the picture box.  
  
Puck had casually leant against the doorway and asked, "Say, old man, what's so interesting that you've spent the whole night glued there?"  
  
"Nothin' much." Hudson replied. "There just ain't nothing to be done tonight. Even Bronx here is bored out of his wits." Upon hearing his name, Bronx had perked up for a moment, but returned to sleep almost instantaneously.  
  
Puck grunted a little. "You're right. This night is deader than Demona's common sense. What time us it? Nine? Jeez, what's taking Goliath so long? He usually takes a break around this time. Not that he's any fun, mind you… thundering about the castle for any stupid reason…nice guy, but absolutely no sense of humor…why, just yesterday—"  
  
"Remind me again…" Hudson interrupted, "Why is it that you tend to babble while your human self doesn't say a word?"  
  
The fey blinked several times; the interruption had been so sudden, "I'm not babbling. I'm just… commenting. And if Owen doesn't say a word it's because…" he paused and shrugged, "He has nothing important to say."  
  
"Really?" the old man chuckled, "It often seems you bottle up everythin' you have to say for a week and when you put on that white-haired wig everything just bursts out…"  
  
"I guess that's one way to see it…" Puck admitted. He'd never thought about it that way. "It's just that…I don't feel like talking as Owen. I don't know how else to explain it. I don't have anything important to say…while in his body… " he trailed off and shrugged again, "I have interesting things to say."  
  
Hudson looked at him with morbid curiosity. "You're a mighty strange creature, Child of Oberon. Don't ever change."  
  
Puck was cheating himself on one thing. He talked to Hudson, yes, but he hadn't had anything important to say either. He ranted about a whole bunch of nothing. He wasn't aware of it, as most ramblers aren't. But he did wanted to say something… something vague and very important, but in the end he'd shrugged it off.  
  
Basically, he wanted to ask him what had happened that night. A long time ago, Puck knew something horrible had happened to him in a quiet night like this one. But he couldn't remember anything important, other than the old man was there and he had talked to him a lot. He only remembered the talking. Everything else was covered with fog.  
  
He'd been blabbing all night, but he really wanted to say, 'Hudson, I want to know what happened that night. I remember you were talking to me, but then I remember nothing, and then there was your face again, and Xanatos' face, and everybody else's faces screaming things I don't understand…'  
  
Great time I picked to think about that… he thought. But in a way, it was the perfect time to think about it. All of this reminded him of that night, the half-forgotten night.  
  
Maybe it was the stress of having his appearance altered so much these last few months and it was making him see things that weren't there. Maybe. Knowing something was wrong with your body made anyone nervous. Maybe.  
  
"Sheesh…" he sighed, "What's taking everybody so long? I'm bored!"  
  
"I'm sure they'll come back soon enough. After all, we're supposed to start planning for the next Breeder's Moon…" the old man retorted.  
  
It managed to bring a smile to Puck's face. "Oh, yeeeess… Young Brooklyn and Lexington are getting choked by the biological clock… isn't it a little soon for that? I mean, Breeding Moon is years away…"  
  
"2008. We did our math already."  
  
"That's still a long way off…"  
  
"But Goliath says we have te start now. The lad is thinking big, you know that."  
  
Of course he knew that, Goliath and Xanatos had been working side by side organizing the 'Gargoyle World Council'. Much delayed, tough as hell to organize, because Goliath said 'world council', he meant it.  
  
They had been working on this for a year and a half already, sniffing out clues in Europe mountains, visiting old friends in Central America, endlessly researching in Russia, having a little safari in Africa and freezing their asses in the Arctic.  
  
Puck never really bought Xanatos' initial claim the Manhattan clan was utterly alone in the universe when they first woke up, but he hadn't known that there were so many clans left. Hell, he hadn't known there was a clan in Avalon until Angela showed up.  
  
Now Angela had been mated with Broadway last spring, and they had been together "Almost a year already…"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Puck blinked and snapped out of his thoughts, "Nothing. Just remembered I have something to do. Later, old man."  
  
Just as quickly, he jumped to his feet and left Hudson to his TV and his dog. Hudson wanted to say something, but Puck was already long gone.  
  
* * *  
  
He did go to his office, but certainly not to work. He could still hear old Johnson on his full ranting mode, "You're a pathological liar, aren't you, Mr. Burnett?"  
  
"Shut up…" he told the memory and sat down on his desk —Owen's desk. He promptly grabbed one of the photos on it, the one of the big ol' 'family'.  
  
It was taken precisely at Angela and Broadway's ceremony. Indeed, there he was, the big dope with a goofy smile hugging Angela, with the whole clan, mutates and Xanatos family behind them. Last, however, were Meg and he. They didn't seem to fit in anywhere in the other 'social circles'.  
  
Just as well… he thought as he put down the photo, leaned over to open a drawer and take out his Palm Pilot agenda. Angela's anniversary reminded him of his own, just a few weeks away. Sure, it was more of enough time to do something, but he figured he better write it down before he regretted it later on.  
  
He couldn't believe those two had waited so much time before tying the damned knot. He had only taken a year or so. And you're proud of that? That you got married right after you stopped seeing the old man?  
  
Better early than never, he guessed. Just look at Goliath and Elisa. Everybody and their grandmothers knew they were together, and he had no doubt they'd done the crazy tango more than once when everybody was not looking. For the love of Heaven, Xanatos had once convinced Goliath to wear a tux and Elisa had been right with him, fixing the tie like some sort of wife. Better to see it, because they looked so adorable.  
  
This, of course, gave Puck the idea for Alex's lesson about bees and birds and magical adjustments in the detective's reproduction system, but he hadn't made a formal plan yet. The idea was there but he needed some time to work out the bugs.  
  
He was smiling already at the face Elisa would do when she found out. What would other clans in the world think of a hybrid between the species? That would be interesting to check out.  
  
He found himself staring at the group picture again. Wow, time had passed since Xanatos woke the gargs and life changed completely. That's the problem with immortality. You suddenly wake up one day and realize things are not like they began a long time ago. And you find yourself terribly disappointed because you didn't notice.  
  
Xanatos must be insane to want it. Then again, I wanted him to achieve immortality… because he wouldn't change either. That is to say, I once wanted him to be immortal…but now?  
  
He got off the desk and clumsily knocked over a wad of papers to the floor. Most of them landed under the desk. He mumbled something then stooped down to pick them up.  
  
He noticed an empty bottle under the desk, a small white one with a blue label. It was in the farthest corner of the desk, by the right leg, and it seemed like it had been there awhile.  
  
He picked it up with the rest of the papers and stood up. He shook it but it was empty. He dumped the rest of the workload on the desk and read the label. Oh, it was Tylenol. For headaches and all. Meg had probably given him the pills from there, for the headache this morning, and left the empty bottle around, how thoughtless of her. It didn't matter, considering it was empty. He tossed it into the trash bin with some other papers he recovered.  
  
His thoughts drifted to Goliath and company. He took out the cell phone from his toga and checked the clock. It was pass ten already. What a dull night.  
  
Well, what was his business getting so worked up about them? Like in the photo, Meg and he weren't really part of the family. Not really. So he shouldn't care whether Goliath got hit by a truck or not.  
  
Only he did care. Mildly, begrudgingly, but he cared. After all, they all lived together and if he didn't concern himself with clan affairs, what would become of them? Even if they don't repay the kindness?  
  
Oh, please…  
  
Being so bored made him get on his own nerves. That's what happens when you are alone for too long, you get introspective and when you get introspective, you get melodramatic and swallow in the sea of self-pity. Especially on a cold night like this one, when things bump in the night and iron knights squeak and you get the feeling something's going to happen… only it doesn't and you're left to chew your nails.  
  
One of these days, he knew he'd be demanded all the answers of all the questions about that night. It would be Alex or it would be Meg or it would be somebody else, but someone was going to ask and he wouldn't know what to say.  
  
He decided to ignore it, as if nothing bothered him, even though he was hounded an unasked question, a crime he wasn't sure he committed and the sickening feeling that the other shoe was about to fall and he didn't know what he'd done to deserve it.  
  
  
  
4 PART THREE  
  
Half an hour before Alexander Xanatos' frightened shriek cut through the silence of the dark castle, his mentor was raiding the refrigerator.  
  
It was getting very late and he'd heard no news from the clan or the Xanatos, much less his own wife. He felt a little peeved with Meg. By staying late she'd ruined a perfectly good night to spend together. Still, he threw in the towel for her.  
  
Her mother's probably freaking out with her credit disaster, and naturally, it's Meg's job to deal with her. Just a little while longer and she'll get away from her soon enough.  
  
As for the clan, well, they were big boys, they could take care of themselves. If they ran into some trouble, they would phone in soon enough. But chances were the city was overrun with more criminals than usual, and patrol extended for a little while longer. And Xanatos… forget about Xanatos. He was probably making out with Fox in a dark and no doubt kinky place. They'd be back by sunrise for sure.  
  
Long since given up on Meg coming soon, he decided to go to bed. But it wasn't like he would have a good night's sleep. The sleep schedules in Wyvern castle were all but nonexistent. Everybody slept when they had time to. The line between night and day had become fuzzy. And lucky him that he should have time tonight.  
  
First, though, a snack was in order.  
  
After slugging around his office for a while longer, he left and cut across the entire West Wing to reach the kitchen. He'd have to walk through half a castle, and the castle was bigger than three football fields put together. That was without taking into account all the hidden corridors and the mazes and the secret rooms all over the castle.  
  
He reached the kitchen and locked the door behind him. Nasty habit, to lock every room he entered. Again, he did not turn on the lights. Another little habit. "Jeez," Meg had told him a few times, "How can you read without a lamp? Turn on the lights, Darling, you're not a vampire!"  
  
Puck didn't need any light. He knew where everything was in that castle. He knew that the giant freezer was fifteen steps forward. The normal fridge was two steps to the left and that's where he headed.  
  
He dug out all sorts of yummy things with intentions of making himself the mother of all sandwiches. He blamed Meg for getting him into the realm of midnight snacks. It was her idea to begin with. So he took out the mayonnaise, the lettuce, the four cheeses, the three hams, Broadway's prized pickles, this sour-green-thing-that-looked-like-mayonnaise-but-it- wasn't-but-it-tasted-good-anyway, the tomatoes and, of course, the gourmet bread Xanatos liked so much.  
  
He was about to piece the whole thing together when his phone rang. He dug through his clothes and checked out the caller's number. It looked like Meg's.  
  
He clicked the little green button and cheerfully said, "Hello, honey, light of my life, sugar in my coffee! Are you coming home soon? Are ya? Are ya?"  
  
He heard no reply.  
  
"Hon?" he repeated.  
  
The call broke off. He heard the dull beep of when someone hanged up.  
  
"Right…" he grunted, "She'll call back soon." The phone ran again. "There we go! —Hon? Can you hear me?"  
  
But he'd heard nothing on the other side. The lines were probably screwed up, maybe she was under a tunnel, or some place where calls didn't get through. The caller hanged up again.  
  
Thirty seconds later, the cell ran once more, but he didn't instantaneously answer. He waited a few rings. One. Two. Three. He clicked it on but this time he said nothing.  
  
Instead, he was very quiet, trying to hear if anything was getting through. He heard something. Thunder in the distance, as crazy as it sounded. And a very soft murmur.  
  
"Meg?" he spoke, this time quite serious. Nobody was replying. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm gonna hang up. You try to call me from another phone, ok? Can you hear me?"  
  
The call fell again.  
  
Puck sighed and stared at it for a moment. Something was wrong with the service, no doubt. He had to call her back.  
  
He was about to, but he didn't, for an ear-shattering shriek cut through the darkness, actually making the great Puck's heart miss several dozen beats.  
  
Startled, —and who wouldn't be startled?— the cell phone slipped from his hands and crashed into the marble floor. He hadn't noticed because that scream, that scream, could only have come from a little boy, one particular little boy.  
  
He didn't even bother using legs and he didn't even bother with theatrics. In a nanosecond he had transported himself to Alex's nursery.  
  
In fact, Alex hadn't been done with shrieking. Puck popped in just bed half- scream, and without missing a beat, he'd grabbed the boy by the shoulders and shaken him, exclaiming, "Alex! What's wrong, baby!? Stop screaming!"  
  
He held him close as Alex broke into hysterical bawling in his arms, crying for his mother. Fox wouldn't be back for several more hours. Meanwhile, Puck could only hold him close and try to comfort him, "What's wrong, short stuff, what's happened? Did you have a bad dream?"  
  
It took several minutes for Alex to calm down, then he uttered something that would ruin his mentor's appetite for the night, "It's...itsits..." he tried to catch his breath, "t-the knight!"  
  
Puck turned around, not fast, but slow, like someone that really, really didn't want to what was going to happen next. He wasn't scared, of course. He was just concerned.  
  
For Puck had no idea what force between heaven and earth could've sneaked into a castle, gone down the East Wing, and walked down the corridor and moved the seventh knight in front of Alex's bedroom.  
  
And the imposing knight was right there by the doorway, with his arms held up high in the shape of an X.  
  
It took him a few seconds for Puck to get his bearings, but when he did, his burrow frowned in resentment, "Bastards! No idiot's gonna make fun of me!"  
  
* * *  
  
He didn't physically remove the knight from the entrance because he decided a quick teleportation was in order. Less than a second later they had popped in unannounced on an unsuspecting Hudson.  
  
The old gargoyle noticed Alex was still sobbing, still with an iron grip on his mentor's neck. Puck's face was deadly serious.  
  
"Lads!" the old man had exclaimed, "What the blazes is going on!?"  
  
Puck's answer was cold and crisp, "We have an intruder in the castle. We have to get a hold of the others."  
  
Hudson couldn't understand right away, the mere idea of an intruder was blasphemous, considering how well guarded was Eerie Building, a modern Fort Knox. "What do ye mean an intruder!?"  
  
"An intruder as in an intruder, Hudson!" Puck snapped, "An enemy! Some guy's been moving the knight at the end of Xanatos' corridor!"  
  
"Why would an enemy do that…?" Hudson incredulously questioned.  
  
"I don't know!"  
  
"You have magic, lad… can't you sense another presence in the castle?"  
  
Puck perked up like he hadn't thought about that yet. "Now that you mention, I am supposed to pick these things up…" he shook his head and mumbled, "But I can't feel anything else than us three. And Bronx."  
  
"Puck, what exactly happened with the metal knight?"  
  
"He moved! He walked right to Alex's room and had his arms form an X! Really, Hudson, I'm not making this up… someone's close by… and if I can't pick him up, its possible he's a capable sorcerer."  
  
"Or sorceress," the old man's eyes narrowed, "It could be Demona up to her ol' tricks again."  
  
The fey wasn't so sure, but he guessed Demona was a candidate. But changing metal dolls from one position to another wasn't her style. Demona didn't have enough patience to employ such subterfuge. Then again, everything was possible. Maybe Demona finally got herself a brain.  
  
"I'm going out there." Puck decided as he handled Alex to Hudson, "Take care of the kid."  
  
"Yuir goin' out there alone? But what if you're ambushed?!"  
  
"I'm a big boy, old man, I can take a whole army if I have to. But I can't take the kid with me. You gotta protect him."  
  
Hudson couldn't argue with logic like that. 'Protection' was Puck's magic word. After all, gargoyles protect, and Puck was more than sure he'd protect the kid at any cost.  
  
"Very well, lad." Hudson finally agreed, "You take care of yuirself, ye hear me? Watch your back."  
  
Puck merely smirked and replied, "Watch your own!"  
  
The one that didn't agree was Alex. "Uncle, don't go! I had a nightmare!"  
  
"Alex," Puck sighed, "It's only natural you're scared, but—"  
  
"It's not about the knight!" Alex complained, "I dreamed about you, Uncle! You…" he wasn't sure how to say it, "I saw you, Uncle. Unconscious on a bathroom and the masked man coming closer to you."  
  
He knew Alex's premonitions were something to take seriously, even if they didn't make sense right away. Puck himself couldn't explain where Alex got his visions, but he really didn't care, for the boy had a perfect record of asserted guesses.  
  
Puck's eyes widened, but that was the only sign he showed about the nervousness he felt with the revelation. "A masked man?"  
  
"Yes!" Alex sobbed, "The mask I saw him tear off from a dead guy!"  
  
The two adults didn't like the sound of that, in fact, it moved them more than either thought possible. "Alex…" Puck began as he stooped in front of him, "I'm sure it was just a bad dream…"  
  
"No." Alex shook his head, "The dead boy is by the waterfall. You go look for it yourself."  
  
For the first time in a long time, Puck felt something he couldn't quite define. He felt… uncomfortable. That was the problem with seers… they tend to make you uneasy about your future. That's why it was such a dangerous thing too; prophecies or 'might-have-beens' shouldn't trap anybody.  
  
"A dead guy." Alex solemnly repeated. "That mask… it looks just like you."  
  
"What does?" Puck whispered.  
  
The boy stared deep into his eyes, as if he held the future in his hands and everything he said was a revelation given to Puck by grace, not by demand.  
  
"The guy." Alex replied, "He's just like you. The X and the weird words and the mirrors and the voices and the masks. They're all connected."  
  
"Alex, we don' understand, babe…" Hudson interrupted, "What does the X mean, then?"  
  
The child considered the question for a moment. He turned to his uncle, and after some deliberation, he said, "It's a message…" he whispered, "A sign of ownership."  
  
Puck shook his head, "Ownership of what?"  
  
"You." Alex replied, completely dead pan. "Ownership of you."  
  
Puck felt himself breathing just a little faster than usual, but he stopped himself. It would do him no good to freak out at a time like this.  
  
"I'll keep that in mind." Puck replied, with a tone so neutral it was so fake, "I still think it's a bad dream." He exchanged a look with Hudson, "Take care of the boy."  
  
"Of course." The old man mumbled, "Take care."  
  
* * *  
  
Puck wasn't sure how to feel about Alex's revelation. A mask of a dead guy's face? A guard, maybe? One of the 'Goon Squad', as Maza lovingly dubs the guards. Our guards have a helmet that covers half a face. Maybe that's it. He killed a guard and took off his helmet, probably his clothes. But the X… I really don't want to think about that right now…  
  
Of course, there was also the possibility Alex was speaking of something else entirely, but the boy hadn't been detailed and Puck hadn't wanted to bring it up. It had to be one of the Goons anyway, because there was nobody else in the castle that night.  
  
But he had to make sure. He wasn't particularly fond of the idea of searching for a dead guy, even less a person he probably knew. Bruno? Or maybe Bill? The Goon Squad has names and faces. Elisa's never stopped to consider that.  
  
Neither did he, up to that moment, but he wasn't about to admit it just yet.  
  
Alex had said it was on the waterfall, so that's where he first headed. He left Hudson and the boy and sliced through the air with his feet barely touching the ground. Walking was such a human custom.  
  
He reached the main hall and the elevators. Taking the elevators was another human custom, but he wasn't eager to see a dead body float in the man-made lake in the garden. He hated to admit it, but he was stalling. He really didn't want to be left with such a gruesome job, but somebody had to do it.  
  
He stepped into the elevator and pushed the corresponding floor. Then he leaned back against a wall and felt the elevator go down. Music was in the air, that hateful elevator music. Xanatos had done it on purpose, he'd bought that horrible soft ballad soundtrack and insisted on playing it there. Something about psychological torture. But at least this song playing wasn't as happy-peppy as the usual bunch and he half-listened.  
  
Leave your stepping-stones behind, something calls for you.  
  
Forget the dead you've left, they will not follow you.  
  
The vagabond who's rapping at your door  
  
Is standing in the clothes that you once wore.  
  
Strike another match, go start anew  
  
And it's all over now, Baby Blue…  
  
He heard a soft ding and the doors opened. He forgot about that pleasant song and focused on his task ahead. Psychological torture, he thought. Xanatos would have such a good laugh if he learns how disgusted I am right now.  
  
He decided to just get it over with. He'd seen plenty of dead people in his wanderings in the last thousand years and this was just another piece of dead meat. With a strong step and a heart he made sure to dump in a cement mixer, he stepped off the elevator and into the inside garden.  
  
The place was huge, hell, big enough for the waterfall in the far end of the tremendous hall; the reflective pool the size of a football field and a rather long bridge to cross it. He remembered he had lured the Cold-trio and the clan there, way back in Alex's first magic lesson. He smirked at the memory.  
  
At least all the white lights were on at that time and everything was fairly easy to make out. He crossed the bridge —rather, he floated, since he had found that his footsteps were unnerving him— and ended just a few meters before the waterfall.  
  
He did not move for a moment.  
  
He first made a quick look at the little rainforest in front of him. Trust Xanatos to redefine the concept of 'indoor garden'. This had been hailed as an architectural masterpiece. They had won prizes. It was basically a small- scale forest.  
  
He looked around and lazily turned right to face the waterfall. He walked in closer, getting through the thick vegetation of the 'garden'. What he wouldn't give for a machete, but all the exotic plants were too expensive to be so carelessly cut in half.  
  
He stood by the edge, on top of the biggest rock circling the 'pond' —Xanatos insisted on realism— but the splashing of the falling water bounced to his boots. But the water looked slightly tinted in red. The water and the rocks were also in red.  
  
It was then that he saw the body.  
  
It was hard to miss it. It was lying face down on the water, arms and legs outstretch as if he wanted to hog the whole pond, half-floating in the water. It had a uniform. He'd been correct. It was one of the Goon Squad. He looked bloated.  
  
This was very, very serious, he realized, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him before. Xanatos had to be alerted, and no doubt Goliath would like to have a hand on this.  
  
He jumped off the rock, with intentions of getting to the nearest phone and start dialing numbers. Maza was on the list, so was Bluestone. And most importantly, he had to call his wife. Maybe her phone was working again—  
  
It was then that he knew a guy was standing behind him. He thought there was someone behind him. From the corner of his eye, he saw something move and instantaneously spun around.  
  
Indeed, on top of the waterfall, one leg on a tall rock, one hand on his hip, his whole body leaning against the raised leg, posing like a 18th century explorer or some kind of Tarzan, there stood a young man with a mane of hair, looking down at Puck like if he were an insect.  
  
And the young man said, with a booming theatrical voice, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph —look at that fucking idiot! Got all cut like a watermelon!"  
  
  
  
5 PART FOUR  
  
It had been years since somebody had sneaked up on Trickster Puck. The last time anyone tried to play a prank on him was Brooklyn, and Puck had made him take root in the main hall.  
  
So when the young man sneaked up on him like that, he was surprised, shocked, then incredibly annoyed. Whoever he was, he'd just gotten on Robin Goodfellow's bad side. That was not good at all.  
  
Puck didn't even attempt to act civilized, he just cut right to the point. Gravely serious, he said, "Who the hell are you and how did you sneak into my castle?"  
  
Biding his time, the stranger didn't reply right away. Instead, he moved atop the biggest rock around to get a better look down the waterfall. "Your castle?" the stranger replied, "Funny, I didn't see your name on the property deed."  
  
"This castle," Puck replied hotly, "is under my protection. I serve all who live here. You are trespassing and therefore you must leave. Don't make me haul you by the hair and kick you out."  
  
"Oh, so you are the Brownie of this house?"  
  
Puck blinked a few times. Nobody had used that term on the fey for centuries. Legendary 'brownies' were spirits that took houses under their protection, fix shoes and stuff. "Yes…" Puck admitted, wary, "That's one way to see it, yes. But who are you?"  
  
The intruder disappeared from the waterfall, not with a burst of light, but by fading to black, melding with the shadows. Again, he reappeared behind Puck, forcing him to spin around once more. Puck refused to let himself get sneaked upon like that. He crossed his arms and gave the guy a stern look.  
  
First thing he noticed was that he was not human. His features and his magic were dead giveaway for him being a Child Of Oberon. His voice was of the strong, clear kind. It was melodious, like a charming public speaker that commanded your attention. But though he looked like a Child and he talked like a Child, for the life of him Puck couldn't place him anywhere.  
  
Rather, the stranger reminded him of himself.  
  
He looked pretty much like Puck did. Same built, similar height, though the stranger was somewhat taller than him by mere inches. All those elfin features on his face, very similar to his own. Fine nose, accented features and a youthful face. Puck wasn't too surprised about that, all the Children took young faces, himself not excluded. However, though the stranger looked young, a few lines sort of betrayed his age. An aging baby face. Puck thought that odd.  
  
Aging baby face and all, he looked handsome, but a little bit too handsome. He looked too perfect, almost like a male model or something. It was obvious this guy had spent a lot of time in a mirror to look just right. He had really astounding eyes. They had this what-have-it quality about them that made them shift in color. Right now, they looked sorta mountain green.  
  
Why would a guy like him want a guard's mask, anyway?  
  
His hair was a very dark purple in a shaggy 'do that the particular lights of the waterfall made it seem almost black. His clothes, however, were the most odd. It reminded Puck of Oberon and Titania's clothes. A shirt with the ornaments and the golden lines that resembled the lords, and the pants and the boots that made him think of Oberon.  
  
He was a very old-fashioned fey. Only the lords dressed like that, because they were lords. There had been a time, though, when everybody dressed like that. But it had been a very long time ago, and judging from the vagueness of Puck's own memories, maybe when he was a child —if creatures like him could be said to have a childhood.  
  
All that conjecturing didn't give Puck a hint on his opponent's name.  
  
"Well?" Puck petulantly repeated, "Aren't you going to tell me your name?"  
  
The stranger merely smirked, "There's a bit of a problem with that… y'see, I don't have a name."  
  
Puck arched an eyebrow, "Don't give me that gargoyle bullshit. What, you go about calling everyone 'brother' and 'sister' all the time?"  
  
"No…" the stranger replied, "I call them idiot, moron, jerk…as in 'hey, jerk, watch the road'!"  
  
It made Puck smile and he didn't mean to smile. He strove to suppress it, "You're jerking my chain, aren't you? I bet I do know you, don't I? You're just using another face!"  
  
He couldn't help but sound amused and the stranger was seemingly pleased with it, "Trust me, mister, you don't know me. But I'd love it if we got to know each other. Would you like to take a ride with me?"  
  
"With you? I don't even know you!"  
  
"But I know you. Does that count?"  
  
"No," Puck retorted, "That doesn't count."  
  
"I know your name is Puck…"  
  
"I never said that was my name."  
  
"Please, everybody knows you're Puck. You're famous. You're also Mr. Burnett. Which do you prefer? Mr. Puck or Mr. Burnett?"  
  
Puck blinked several times before answering, because he didn't know what to say. How did he know about Owen? He wasn't aware that his human identity was of public knowledge in Avalon.  
  
"I dunno…" he concluded, "Whichever you like best…"  
  
"Alright. Then I'll call you Mr. Burnett. So much familiarity all of the sudden will only startle you… Some think it's rude to call each other by the first name. I never understood. I don't have a name. You'll have to explain it to me sometime… But I have a theory. I think when you know somebody's name, you have a kind of power over them, you get what I mean? I think people are annoyed at the misuse of their names. Maybe that's why I don't have a name."  
  
Puck snorted and gave him an amused smile, "Well, this simply will not do. From now on, your name will be… Bob! So, Bob, where did you come from and what are you doing here?"  
  
" 'Bob' ?"  
  
"Hey, don't look a gift horse in the mouth… it's a name, isn't it?"  
  
The young man tilted his head just so and smiled, "Fine, but only because it's from you." A beat. "It's getting late. We oughta get going."  
  
"Going? I'm not going anywhere."  
  
"You promised you were going to take a ride with me."  
  
"I never said I was going anywhere with you. I don't even know you."  
  
"But you do know me, you've just named me." He extended his hand to Puck and the latter blinked in surprised, "We'll take a trip together, just you and me. And we'll get to know each other." He smiled.  
  
Puck blinked again, stared at the extended hand and at the owner. He took half-a-step back and realized he'd forgotten all about the dead body floating in the pond. How could he forget about something like that? He needed to call Mr. Xanatos—  
  
He shook his head and dryly asked, "Did you kill him?"  
  
"Kill who?"  
  
"The guy!" Puck spouted angrily, pointing behind him, "You killed him, didn't you?!"  
  
The stranger bent a little to the right to get a better look at the body then he exclaimed, "Oh, yeah, that guy…" he strengthened himself and shrugged, "Sorry 'bout that. He startled me."  
  
Puck's eyes widened, halfway between shock and alarm. "You killed him? And you think nothing of it…? This was a human, this was one of the guards! He had a wife and a kid and a family!"  
  
The stranger dismissed it with a shrug, "Don't get so self-righteous. You don't even know his name." That much was true, Puck hadn't turned the body around, and since it was floating upside down, he couldn't see his face.  
  
Puck staggered for a moment, to finally burst, "That still doesn't make it ok! I demand to know what happened."  
  
"Ok," the stranger replied, "I'll tell you all about it if you come with me. It's gonna be loads of fun, just you and me and the open air. Don't worry, you won't have to worry about anything again. Just you and me…what'd you say?"  
  
Puck laughed; he simply had to laugh. He didn't mean to, because this was very serious and this wasn't the time to tell stupid jokes, but Puck couldn't help but relax.  
  
Smiling, he said, "I think I'll have to decline that offer…surely, you don't expect me to simply drop everything and leave with you without even packing a toothbrush…"  
  
"Yes," the stranger replied, "That's exactly what I want you to do."  
  
Puck's smirk turned into nervous laughter; like a person who had been told a joke and didn't quite understood the punch line. He didn't know what to say. He peered into the stranger's eyes but couldn't make out if the intruder was serious or not. He was smirking, though. Puck didn't like that smirk.  
  
All right, his better side muttered, This is getting weird… So with half- serious, half-joking, all incredulous tone, Puck burst, "I'm not going anywhere with you!"  
  
It was the stranger's turn to chuckle, "I don't think you understand… I'm not asking you to come with me. I'm telling you we are going on a trip and we will have lots of fun…"  
  
Whether you like it or not.  
  
Puck shook his head, not to the stranger, but to himself. This was getting too weird. Who was that guy, anyway? It was probably a sick joke from the Avalon guys, wasn't it?  
  
He chuckled, a high, nervous, unsure giggle. "I'm not going anywhere with you…!"  
  
"Of course you are!" the stranger laughed, "Didn't you see my sign?" He raised his arms and formed an X with them. He lowered them, but the X hung in the air, almost visible, like smoke floating away. "You're coming with me and we're going to take a ride with me and you'll love it. Trust me, you'll love it. I have so many things to teach you… you'll love me for it."  
  
Puck stared at him intently, realizing for the first time the stranger had something twisted in mind. And in what was probably the worst time in his life, he ran out of ideas. So instead of attacking or coming up with something useful, he stuttered the same refrain, "I'm not going anywhere with you…"  
  
He made a mental map on the huge hall they were in, silently making an escape route. He also stared intently at the young man, who hadn't moved an inch in the whole conversation. In fact, the stranger was very, very relaxed, with his arms crossed, as if just standing around waiting for Puck to make up his mind. The stranger didn't look like he was going to attack him. Not yet, he thought. But there was a tangible meanness in his green eyes that shook him up, that told him he needed to get away now.  
  
"Well?" the stranger spoke up, "It's getting late. We ought to get going."  
  
Puck stared at him shocked, and burst, "I'm not going anywhere with you!" as if that had worked the first three times he had said it, and without thinking, tried to burn the guy back to hell.  
  
Puck's hair stood on end and his eyes rolled back, instantaneously making a circle of light around the stranger and letting fire consume the poor sap inside. He hadn't given it much thought; he only wanted to hurt him.  
  
He took a few steps away from the pyrotechnics as the swimming sensation he got after using so much energy began to dissipate already.  
  
But coming from behind him, a voice called, "That was completely unnecessary!"  
  
Puck spun around. The intruder was an arm's length behind him. He looked perfectly healthy, not a single stand of hair out of place.  
  
The intruder did not punch him in the gut or tried to harm Puck in anyway. He merely laughed, like it was the funniest thing he had seen in decades. He laughed on for almost an eternity. Meanwhile, Puck stared, in total and complete numbness, having no idea what was going on.  
  
The stranger calmed down, and wiping a few tears from his eyes because of all that laughter, he turned to Puck and said, "I'm sorry! It's something of an inside joke for me, I don't expect you to understand…!" then he began to giggle again, "Heh! Fireballs! Whoosh!"  
  
Puck tried again, only this time something short-circuited. Just about when he was about to raise his arms to unleash another circle of fire, he felt a chill go up his spine and felt his powers dampened. They were there, only in sleep-mode. It was like someone indeed walked over his grave.  
  
The guy giggled a few more seconds before calming down completely, "Now, Puck, I love theatrics as much as the next guy, but I'm afraid hysterics won't do much for your cause right now. You know how it is… funny the first time, annoying in the reruns… now, I'm not going to repeat myself again. We're going on a trip, just you and me. I understand you're worried, and I suppose that's natural, but trust me, you and me, we'll be able to sit down and laugh back at this, and you'll tell me, 'Yes, you were absolutely right, how stupid of me to worry like that. Forgive me, Bob, I was young and ignorant' and you'll laugh so hard you'll feel your insides will burst!"  
  
Puck felt very, very small, weak and defenseless and he hated it, he absolutely hated it. "Excuse me!? Who are you?! I'm not going anywhere with you! You… are you crazy?!"  
  
"No, I'm not crazy, I'm just stating the facts. I'm just telling you that you're going to take a trip with me. You'll like it, trust me, you will. I'll take you where you haven't been before, and you'll be eternally grateful I showed it to you, because it'll be something you've never imagined and you'll know you won't be able to come back to this dreary castle and all those stupid gargoyles and your arrogant boss and your airhead wife. We're going there, you and me. We're going there."  
  
Puck spun around and ran.  
  
Puck spun around and ran away from the intruder, heading straight to the elevators. He needed to go away, he needed to. Why the elevator, he didn't know, it was the first thing that popped in his mind in between the fog and the words of that guy, that stranger, that intruder, that bastard, that creep, that monster.  
  
He couldn't simply wiggle his nose or snap his fingers to go to the common room where Alex and Hudson were, for his powers had been considerably dampened. He still could float, and that was a relief, but it was impossible for him right now to make a long distance teleport. The obvious part of him, the one that had spent too many years as a human, imposed and made him ran to the elevators instead.  
  
He pushed the button to go up, back to Hudson and Alex, back to where it was safe. He hit it several times, panting even though he hadn't any reason to pant, because it wasn't like he was human and he was running out of breath. But it felt good to pant and gradually calm down, it felt good.  
  
"The place you left ain't there no more."  
  
Right by the right corner, the stranger stood, leaning against a corner with a smirk on his face. Puck let out a startled yelp and stood against the corner, as much as he hated to admit, like a scared cat.  
  
"The place you left," the guy repeated, "ain't there no more. And the place you wanted to go is all canceled out. There's only one way to go and you're looking at him."  
  
"Screw you, mister, nobody tells me what to do!" Puck barked and tried to strike him, but he ended up striking the wall, because he hadn't even blinked when the stranger was already on the other corner, staring contemptuously at him. Frustrated, he cried, "Who do you think you are!?"  
  
The guy shrugged, "I'm just like you."  
  
"Bullshit! What are you?"  
  
"I told you." his tone dropped ominously, "I'm. Just. Like. You."  
  
Puck shook his head and growled, "Just wait until the clan comes back, then you'll get yours! Nobody crosses us and gets away with it!"  
  
The young man smiled sweetly and shook his head, "No, I don't think you understand. This will stay between you and me…those others, they never understood."  
  
"Understood what?"  
  
"Us. They never understood us. I know you don't understand, but when you come with me, everything will be clear as glass."  
  
"I'll never leave with you!"  
  
"Really?" the intruder's eyes narrowed, "What if I slit your nephew's throat and leave him to rot in the middle of Times Square, will you come with me then? What was his name again? Alex? Alexander Xanatos? Son of industrialist David Xanatos and his lovely wife Fox the mercenary?" he sneered and added, "That Alex?"  
  
Puck's eyes widened at the threat, and he hadn't the slightest doubt the guy would make good on his threat if he pissed him off. He knew his sort. The ones that were completely nuts and would do anything to get their way. He knew what was going to happen next, he knew it.  
  
He knew everything about the guy yet he knew nothing about the guy. Everything felt like a dreamy encounter, that this wasn't really happening. But he didn't fool himself. This was definitely happening and it felt like it had been going on since forever.  
  
He knew perfectly well that the guy wasn't kidding; it had all been prophesized in a dream.  
  
"Do it…" Puck calmly replied, "And you'll lose me for sure. Hurt that little boy and I swear I'll—"  
  
"Kill me?" he scoffed, "Like I haven't heard that one before. No, you won't do that. My suggestion?" he smiled again, "Don't look for them. You'll only hurt yourself. But if you're interested, go, go look for the little boy and pseudo-grandpa. You'll never find them, but go ahead, look for yourself. You'll blindly grip in the darkness for awhile before giving up, turn back and try to kick my ass. Not that'll you succeed, mind you, but I'll be looking forward to it."  
  
Puck just stared at him, slowly shaking his head, trying to deny this was actually happening. But it was happening and he had to deal with it. "Who are you?!" he burst. "Who do you think you are!? Don't you know who I am?!"  
  
"Yes. You're Puck."  
  
"I don't mean that, you overbearing moron!" He snapped, "My boss is the richest man in the world, the clan are the strongest brutes you can imagine and I'm in Avalon's Queen Titania's good favor! How dare you mess with me!? I could have you killed and tossed over the Hudson River if I feel like it! I'm gonna call the clan, I swear I will!"  
  
"You're not gonna call the clan." the intruder chuckled, "You're not gonna call the clan anymore that you're gonna call the cops or your wife or your boss."  
  
He took a few menacing steps toward him but Puck couldn't take any steps back, he was already against the wall. So when the guy slammed his hands at either side of Puck's head, pinning him down for sure, he felt like a teenage girl trying to fend off a drunken date.  
  
He couldn't help but notice the guy's hands were imbedded in the iron wall. Only Goliath could leave such a deep mark. This guy was very strong while Puck, physically speaking, was considerably slimmer and, well, not that buff. Fighting back was definitely not an option.  
  
And, of course, having that guy's face so close to his made him even more nervous, very nervous, so nervous that Puck's rational thinking process was beginning to shut down.  
  
In other words, he was scared shitless.  
  
No, I'm not, he thought, but a louder voice argued, Yes, you are! Yes, you are, you're so scared you're just standing there like an imbecile letting that bastard do whatever he wants with you! Do something! Do anything!  
  
"You," the guy said, "are not going to call the cops. You are not going to call anyone. This is going to stay between us, won't it? Say it'll stay between us. Say it."  
  
"…it'll stay between us…" Puck replied, but he felt that wasn't him at all, only a pre-programmed response that seemed appropriate at the time. He felt very far away, watching this body and that guy talk to each other from a safe distance.  
  
The intruder saw right through him. "Good boy," he sneered. The doors dinged and opened. Puck looked out for a moment; the lights were off. Probably the guy's handiwork.  
  
The guy backed up and gestured towards the opening doors, "Go on," the stranger encouraged, "Go look for the boy! Look for him everywhere, and when you are satisfied, we'll leave, you and me, to a place so big and a land so wide you won't know where to look first."  
  
"I'm not going anywhere with you…" he whispered for the last time.  
  
"Oh, yes." the young man spoke plainly, sure of himself, "Yes, you are."  
  
  
  
6 PART FIVE  
  
"Go on. Look for the boy…"  
  
Puck took a few steps backwards, off the elevator. He turned his head for a moment. All the nights were off. He stared at the intruder again, who also walked out, but very slowly as to not startle him further.  
  
"Go on," the stranger encouraged. "Aren't you going to look for him?"  
  
"I think we both know you'll never allow me to find him!" Puck spat back. He ignored the guy's happy chitchat tone and got to the point, "What do you want? What do you really want? You've succeeded in stealing my child, locking my powers, kidnapping a gargoyle and keeping the clan at bay. Just who do you think you are? I don't even know your name!"  
  
"I told you. I don't have one."  
  
"That's not the point! I demand to know what you are and where is Alex before I get really upset! And-and…" he trailed off, "Stop looking at me like that!"  
  
Because they were staring at each other's eyes and it was making him nervous. The guy hadn't heard a thing he said, he was too busy inspecting his eyes. The guy's mountain green eyes made him uneasy. He looked ready to say something, something very important.  
  
"You have lovely eyes."  
  
Puck blinked. That wasn't what he expected him to say. He'd expected a wisecrack or an insult, but never something like 'you have lovely eyes'. What the hell was that supposed to mean?  
  
"Can we go now?" the guy added.  
  
Puck was dumbfounded. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"  
  
It took him a few seconds to remember that was the eighth, possibly the ninth time he'd said that. It didn't work before and it wasn't working now. For the sake of showing off his vocabulary, he gathered the courage to add, "Where's my Alex?"  
  
"He's around." The guy sighed, "But I might as well tell you right now we're not taking him with us. This is between us, you and me only."  
  
"I'm not planning on going anywhere."  
  
"Yes, you are." The guy replied, "Don't worry, you'll love it. But the kid…it's not his time yet."  
  
"Time for what?" Puck asked incredulous, "The hell you're talking about!?"  
  
"You don't know?" the stranger replied, "You must know, you called me forward. We're meant to be together, you and I."  
  
Puck froze again. Very wary, he muttered, "Together how?"  
  
It was a fair question, even though Puck's mind was already coming up with depraved answers. Why would he say he had lovely eyes? You don't go about telling people they have lovely eyes.  
  
"Like companions! Like partners. Trust me, it'll be wonderful. I'll show you so many things, you'll love me for it! Come on, can we leave now? We oughtta get going…" he trailed off for a second, "…hey… your face looks red…"  
  
Just his luck, Puck was one of those people that turned bright red when embarrassed, because he was so pale and it was so obvious. He couldn't see himself, but he must've been red as an apple.  
  
You idiot, can't you see he's just pushing your buttons? That little voice told him, Don't fall apart on me, Mr. Burnett, Alex can't afford it. Just don't let him get to you. That's all he's trying to do. Get to you.  
  
Puck ignored his comment and tried to be as neutral as he could in his arguments, though it didn't work out too well. "What makes you think I would have anything to do with the likes of you?" he said, more high pinched than he'd expected, sounding a little too desperate.  
  
The intruder caught that tone and he grinned like a very pleased cat that'd been pampered that whole night. "Because it makes perfect sense for us to be together." He said, very smooth and calm, "I've been looking for another like me for…" He trailed off. He frowned and sighed, "….a long time." He turned to Puck and smiled pleasantly, "I'm really glad I found you."  
  
"How long have you been following me?"  
  
"I haven't. You called me."  
  
"No, I didn't!" Puck barked, completely outraged, "You bastard! What do you want? Really want?"  
  
"Just somebody to talk to…" he said, mocking without meaning to be disrespectful. "You have no idea how long I've looked for one of us."  
  
"Us?" Puck snorted, "I'm nothing like you."  
  
"Oh yes you are!" The guy teased and chuckled, "Don't you know anything? Here I thought you would've been pleased to meet me… And who cares what I am or what I'm  
  
not as long as I am?" He gave him his best comforting smile —which was as fake as Elisa's imitation leather jacket— and added, "The only thing you need to know is that I'm your friend, the only one that can understand you in this whole filthy Earth… My intentions are crystal-clear and my life is an open book for you to read. Trust me. Everything will be alright."  
  
"Right." Puck retorted with contempt. "Then why don't start with your name?"  
  
The guy's good spirit evaporated, though he tried to act as casual as he could. He leaned back against a wall and snorted. "I told you. I don't have one."  
  
"Then what about your history. Or your family. Anything at all."  
  
"I don't have any of those. Not anymore. Why is that so important? Family won't matter where we're going."  
  
Puck tensed up again at those pesky plurals the intruder kept using. Hiding worry with bravado, he put on his nonchalant façade and petulantly replied, "Gee, figures a psycho like you wouldn't understand that normal people have a life…" He chuckled gleefully at his own joke until he noticed the expression on his opponent's face.  
  
For the first time that night, the guy let slip his indifferent attitude. Agitated, his nostrils flared up for a moment and his eyes glittered with that malevolence Puck had found so disturbing before. He could see there was something else lurking behind his mountain green eyes and by God he didn't want to find out what it was.  
  
But just as quickly, the guy smiled, a forced smile that tried to be patient and pleasant, but it was obvious it wasn't. Everything about the stranger seemed forced somehow, from the hair down to his shoes and that little fake smile that wanted to lull him into something strange and unnatural.  
  
"Ok. I get it now." the young man replied with some sense of realization, "I understand why you're being so belligerent. I forgive that insulting outburst. After all, I can't expect you to understand everything all at once. You're just scared. And scared people always say stupid things like that."  
  
The intruder laughed. He laughed so hard, so loudly, Puck had to take a few steps back, a little frightened. His laugh echoed through the darkened main hall, no doubt all through the castle.  
  
His green eyes had never looked so dead as the time as he laughed. His laughter recessed, then he extended his hand towards Puck again, and his eyes were still barren. His laugh turned teasing and he said, "I can show you. But you have to want to. Allow your curiosity to get a hold of you. Come on —I'll behave. We got a deal?"  
  
"A deal for what?"  
  
"Show you what I'm all about. That's what you want to know. You haven't shut up about it all night!"  
  
Puck looked at him, really looked at him. For a moment, he toyed with the possibility that the intruder hadn't existed before this night. That he had no past of history because he hadn't existed before. Maybe Puck was sleeping or maybe was drunk, but maybe that purple-haired youth with the near perfect face was only his own worries with a body and voice.  
  
Whatever he was, he had come from nowhere and wasn't planning on going anywhere and that special place he talked about was all bullshit. Puck thought —no, he knew— that place was nowhere he wanted to be anytime soon.  
  
He extended his hand to Puck as if on an invitation. Puck stared at the hand, then at the owner. He wasn't going to take that hand, he wasn't.  
  
The guy was visibly annoyed. "If you want to get to know me, you're going to have to trust me."  
  
"I don't trust anyone. I'm not going anywhere with you!"  
  
"Really? I say your blind faith that the clan will magically appear out of thin air and 'save' you says the contrary. If you just went with me, everything will be so easy! So damn easy!" he slammed his foot down in the outburst and Puck shirked back for a moment — just a moment. But then he relaxed again. "…I only wish to show you…maybe if I show you, you'll want to come with me. I'm sure you will! Let me show you… no tricks, no games… just a glance at it…" He smiled that slippery smile, "…please…? You'll only make it more painful to them and more painful for you…"  
  
"Painful? Why would it be painful? To who?"  
  
"Your family and your love. Who else?"  
  
Puck gave him an incredulous look. "Did you do something to them? What… what did you do!?"  
  
"I haven't done anything to them. It's what you've done to yourself what's really painful."  
  
"Do what?" he snapped, "Would you please stop talking in riddles and just tell me what the hell is going on?"  
  
The stranger looked ready to argue something, but he quickly changed his mind and stared at him, really sizing him up for the first time. The guy seemed at odds with himself for some reason, he was very confused.  
  
"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"  
  
"Duh! Of course I don't, you idiot!"  
  
The intruder looked positively crestfallen. "You… you didn't do it on purpose…" He closed his eyes and bit his lip. He shook his head and came to a decision. "No matter… I'm here and it's too late for them to…" He faced Puck again and tried to give him an assuring smile. It didn't work. "Either way, you might as well give up now. You're just prolonging the inevitable. You're hurting your family."  
  
Puck pictured Goliath and the rest in some sort of torture machine or something, but sorry Big Guy, when it came between him and the gargoyles, the leader could take it. He wasn't planning on sacrificing himself for the clan's sake. He wasn't that altruistic.  
  
Meg, on the other hand… impossible, because she was at her ma's house, and not even the guys in Avalon knew his mother-in-law's identity. Idiot, a voice whispered, I call that wishful thinking…  
  
"What have you done to them?" he asked the stranger.  
  
"It's not what I did, but what you did to yourself. You were always so uncaring about others. Hell, I don't know why did I bring up your family. You don't even care about your wife."  
  
"Yes, I do!" Puck complained, "…About my wife, at least…"  
  
"Still, it's not your wife whom you've been thinking about these last few hours," the stranger continued, "Tell me, what's so important about the doctor?"  
  
"What?" Puck snapped, How did he…?  
  
"Trust me, I have a pretty clear idea of what's going through your mind right now." The guy continued, casually pacing back and forth where he stood, "Even if you don't know it yourself. You see, I think your subconscious is trying to tell you something but you just can't take a hint."  
  
Now, how was he supposed to answer that?  
  
He took a deep, frustrated breath and tried not to look so insulted at what he considered to be an impertinent question. Instead, he proclaimed all ignorance. Crossing his arms and facing away, he mumbled, "I don't know what you're talking about…"  
  
The intruder smiled maliciously, "Liar…"  
  
* * *  
  
"Liar, liar, Mr. Burnett… I would've thought you knew better than to slip a fast one by me…"  
  
Owen tried hard not to snort and simply flopped back in the couch. God, he hated that man. And Johnson knew he hated the questions, and that's why he kept asking them. But how was he supposed to answer that one?  
  
"We met in the airport. I mean, what else is there to say? I met her in the airport." He replied, conveniently skipping over the incident with the cigarette lighter and the magic spells.  
  
He couldn't go on babbling about the Voodoo website anymore that he could talk about his white hair and pointy ears. He felt tempted to reveal himself, though, if only to hear what he had to say. He'd probably diagnose him multiple personalities or something along those lines. That would be amusing to hear, confirming what the clan was saying all along, that he was totally—  
  
"So you met her at the airport." The old man sighed. "That's it? You told me you were going on vacation, but according to my sources, it turns out you never stepped on the plane."  
  
"Sources?" Owen made a mental note to exterminate that leak in security. Anyway, he'd already practiced that story with Xanatos so that they could get their versions straight.  
  
"She accidentally made me miss the plane and since I had nowhere to go, I stayed at her place. And… we liked each other." That was stretching it, of course. "And started dating later on."  
  
Johnson could smell the bullshit a mile away, but knew better than to grill him for details. "And that's when you decided my services were no longer required."  
  
He choked a heavy, frustrated sigh and tried to be as matter-of-factly as he could. "It's not Meg. I just feel that…" This is a pointless waste of my time made up by David Xanatos, whom I'm still a long way off from forgiving "…it's time for me to move on."  
  
"Look, Mr. Burnett…We have rarely seen eye to eye and we've been together for almost a year now…" the old man said as he took off his glasses and leaned forward to talk closer. He crossed his legs —he had really nice brown shoes—put his yellow notebook away, closed the cap on his pen and shoved it into the front pocket of his brown jacket.  
  
"In fact, that's one of big issues with you. I have to twist your arm to know what you had for breakfast this morning. I know that we agreed in the contract that we wouldn't talk about your work with David Xanatos… God, he talks like a Mafia boss when it comes down to you… but you gotta leave me something to work with or else I won't be able to release you."  
  
"I know." Owen mumbled, "…but it's my job."  
  
It wasn't that he purposely tried to be a jerk, but hey, a gargoyle clan lived in the damn castle and his nephew could transfer souls from body to body.  
  
"So. Here we are again against the same wall." Johnson commiserated, "How many times have we gotten here? Not only is David Xanatos running interference, but you…" he couldn't help chuckling, "…hell, I don't think you need him! You can duck questions all by yourself."  
  
"You're just exaggerating…"  
  
"I wish. But ultimately, it's not me I'm worried about." Johnson continued while he put back on his glasses, "It's that girl. It's perfectly reasonable not to tell me what's going on, but what about her? What if you get married? Will you keep to yourself even then?"  
  
"No," he replied unconvincingly, "I'll tell her what she needs to know."  
  
" 'What she needs to know'…well…" he sighed heavily and made a disapproving gesture but didn't argue the point. "You're hopeless."  
  
Owen merely shrugged.  
  
"…I think your time is just about up. Oh, last thing… have you been sleeping well? Anything I should know about? Bad dreams?"  
  
"No, I'm good."  
  
The old man snorted lightly. "…I'm gonna write you up something anyway…" He noticed Owen was about to complain and quickly raised both hands, "…just in case, of course."  
  
He grabbed another notebook, a small white one with his name engraved on the top and wrote something only a pharmacist could read. "Sleeping pills. Pack a wallop so only one at the time."  
  
Owen begrudgingly took the note and stuffed it in his pocket. "It's not necessary. I'm sleeping perfectly well."  
  
"Yeah…" the old man chuckled, "Right…"  
  
Damn that old man. Nothing slipped pass him. How the hell did he know he hadn't shut an eye in two nights?  
  
"All I've done for you, all this time together…" the old man continued as if an afterthought, "…I can only do so much. The only way for you to get rid of what ails you is to quit that damn job and get away from that cursed castle." He breathed in slowly, "But that's not gonna happen. So I'll have to do for now. Same time next week?"  
  
* * *  
  
"Oh," the intruder sighed in satisfaction, "It's all beginning to make sense." Like a man deep in thought, he started walking away from Puck. He mumbled things to himself while Puck stood there, dumbfounded at the stranger's odd behavior. First he threatened him, now he ignored him.  
  
"Hey!" Puck cried out, "I demand an explanation 'cuz this sure don't make sense to me!"  
  
The guy turned around to stare at him. "Oh, you do? Trust me, you don't need answers, because answers certainly won't save you now. Besides, you know as well as I do what's really happening to us."  
  
" 'Us' ? There's that word again! And how come you know so much about me!? Hey, I'm talking here!" Puck went on complaining, because the stranger seemed to ignore him completely.  
  
"I'm note here to answer questions, Mr. Burnett, I'm here to take you where you belong."  
  
"Where the blazes is that?" he blurted, more wary than before, "…you don't mean Avalon? I thought Oberon…"  
  
The intruder laughed loudly and said, "Oh, no! Whatever makes you think I'm from Avalon!" he continued chuckling to himself whist Puck stared on. "I know a few of the children, true, but I'm not a native. It doesn't matter who I am because you're coming with me anyway and there's nothing you can do about it. Would you like to leave a message? You know, for your loved ones?"  
  
"No, dammit, I'm not about to hang myself from a post anymore that I'll go with you!"  
  
"But it's so nice, the place where we're going…" the intruder continued, walking a little closer to him, but not really looking at him. Lost on his sea of thought, the guy sighed softly. "It's so peaceful. The birds sing and there's music in the air. And when time passes, eternity is wrapped in a second. Sometimes, however, its too much to take it all in and then… you have to relax and everything is revealed to you slowly so you can pay extra close attention to the great design of things."  
  
That merely earned him a long, hard, confused stare from the Puck.  
  
"Don't be like that." The stranger admonished him, "I can show you a glimpse, just a part, and if you like it, which I'm almost certain you will, you'll be free to stay."  
  
He extended his hand towards Puck again, but the latter still didn't take it. "Stop it…" Puck replied instead, "…there's something about you that frightens me…"  
  
"Why be afraid? I am your best friend right now. I'm the one that can help you leave this twilight and the life you were never that fond of."  
  
"I'm fond of life!" Puck complained, but not very effectively. He sounded too full of doubts to make a good argument. "I love my wife! And I like the clan. It's just that sometimes…"  
  
"That sometimes what?"  
  
Puck shook his head, more to himself than to the intruder, "…it's just that sometimes they can be so damned difficult …that's what Johnson never understood… I don't know why the hell I'm thinking about him… he tried to be my friend, and I guess he was. I just wish he'd call me sometimes… God, why the hell am I saying this things, and to you of all people?"  
  
"You can't help it." The intruder replied as he crossed his arms, "When I extend my invitation, your whole life flashes through your mind… and you can't help but focus on the regrets and the might-have-beens. It's happened to many others before you and it'll continue happening as long as everybody lives."  
  
Frustrated, Puck scoffed softly and muttered, "I don't understand…"  
  
"How can you not understand!" the guy complained, "We've been against this very wall countless times before! It's time to break it down once and for all. Join me, Mr. Burnett, and leave this sorry place. It'll just waste you and make it longer that it has to be! I won't leave without you!"  
  
"That's too bad… for you. The clan will—"  
  
"The clan will do nothing!" the intruder yelled, and this time his voice echoed like nothing before him, not even Goliath's growl, had done before. And this time, he grabbed Puck by an arm and gave him a good shaking, "The clan will do nothing! They won't be able to do anything, Owen Burnett, so you might as well shut up and do what I ask of you!"  
  
He violently pushed the ever-appalled Puck to the floor. He landed flat on his back, hitting his head on the stone floor. With wide eyes, the fey crawled backwards and stuttered, "You're-you're fucking nuts! Get the hell out of my castle!"  
  
"I'm not going anywhere! You, on the other hand—"  
  
Puck didn't let him finish. Still flat on the stone, he knocked the intruder by delivering a kick to his knees and the guy flopped down. Just as quickly, Puck got up and headed to the nearest hallway, the East Wing.  
  
Screw this! He thought, I'm not being paid enough to battle a madman!  
  
  
  
7 PART SIX  
  
He floated down the hallway at top speed, knocking over every unfortunately Ming vase and irreplaceable million dollar painting in his way.  
  
He wasn't sure where he wanted to go to begin with. He didn't know where he was anymore. In this darkness, he zigged and zagged with no proper sense of direction. He felt like a tourist in his own damn castle.  
  
By pure chance, he stumbled upon the bedchambers' corridor. His room was third door to the left. But this was the hallway where a knight had moved by its volition in front of Alex's bedroom. His eyes narrowed and he tried to make out if it was still there. It was there, but no longer in front of the bedroom.  
  
He was back where it belonged, against the wall in the far end of the corridor.  
  
Puck stood right where he was for a couple of minutes, half expecting the knight to jump and attack him. But the knight didn't show the slightest intention of doing anything of the sort.  
  
Without taking his eyes from the iron knight, he cautiously counted the doorknobs until he found his bedroom. He jumped inside, locked the door and put his ear to it. No old metal was squealing down the corridor, no horrible clank-clank-clank. Merely silence.  
  
He let himself sigh relieved. His back to the door, he slid down until he sat on the carpet. He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to make sense of all of it. He thought he felt a bump on his head, maybe because he landed too hard when the guy knocked him down. It hurt and it was giving him a bit of a headache.  
  
He got up, adjusted his clothes and tried to think of a plan. Only his head hurt more than he'd expected and it was hard to think. Think, think, think. There had to be a way out of the castle, some way to contact the clan.  
  
Goddamit, what's with the headache? I didn't hit myself that hard!  
  
He doubted it was the same headache from the morning, because he'd spent the rest of the day so well, all things considered. He must've bumped his head real good on the stone. He headed to Meg's huge wardrobe mirror. It had brown, wooden frame and the mirror made objects larger than they appeared. He did his best to check how big was his bump, but it was hard because he didn't have Meg's pocket mirror with him. He peered into the large mirror—  
  
—and saw a white room full of brilliant light.  
  
He let out a loud, high-pinched yelp that sounded more like a wounded dog than a child of Avalon and staggered backwards, tripping over his own feet and falling on his ass. But not once did he steer his eyes from the mirror.  
  
The mirror didn't reflect the room he was in, but another completely different one. It was white, filled with a soft light that seemed to irradiate from the very walls. He could distinguish all four walls, though to the right there was something else. A rectangular surface that took most of the space, a glass window of some sort, from where he noticed a dark figure standing behind it. It was hard to tell what it was, since the image was very fuzzy, like a maladjusted camera lens.  
  
There was also something moving in the white room, something dressed in white. It was walking out of the 'camera's range and out what appeared to be a door by the window glass. It closed behind him and Puck could almost hear the soft clank of the lock.  
  
He put his right hand on the mirror's surface, expecting it to pass through, but it didn't. He turned around, but saw only his very own darkened room where everything was normal. He faced the mirror once more, but the vision was gone and the room's proper reflection was back in place.  
  
He removed his hand and properly knelt in front of the mirror. He blinked a few times, then rubbed his eyes, just in case they were failing him. His bedroom's reflection did not change, but Puck was sure that for a few seconds the room he saw was not his own, but a strange and eerie one he couldn't identify.  
  
His odd headache was still there, if not a bit stronger than before. It was no mere bump what caused it; it was sorcery against him. And he couldn't help but repeat that old, worn out line, "What sorcery is this?" and say it with a new sense of wonder and sincerity.  
  
"Damn this headache…" he promptly added as he stood up and his head began to swim.  
  
Wherever that place was, it definitely had something to do with the stranger. After all, if Puck didn't do it, then it had to be the short- tempered nutcase, because these things were always some evil creature's fault.  
  
Speaking of evil, where was Xanatos? Or Alex and Hudson? Or Meg or everybody else? It was late already, and though he didn't held out much hope for the clan or his employer, at least Meg should've been here by now.  
  
She had been out all day. She never disappeared from the castle for such a long period of time, not without dropping by for a minute or calling him or letting him know she was still alive or far away or nearby or just heading back.  
  
The vision of the white room with the retreating spirit had shaken him more than he expected. It showed him a dazzling array of worrisome possibilities. If such a place existed in a mirror, anything was possible. Maybe Meg wasn't as safe as he deluded himself into thinking. Nobody holding a grudge against the Puck —out of the dozens he surely didn't know or remembered— knew his wife's family, but with the right research, it wouldn't be hard follow Owen Burnett's wife's every movement.  
  
Or maybe he was thinking too hard. Or maybe he wasn't thinking at all. If the spirit's room could be shown in a simple wardrobe mirror, maybe he was against something he hadn't experienced before.  
  
Maybe things were not like he thought they were.  
  
The headache receded somewhat, but the worry was there. Either way, a headache was inconsequential to the other, more palpable danger lurking out loose in the castle, yelling things Puck didn't understand.  
  
Examining different possibilities forced him to examine that very bothersome one. That maybe he couldn't handle the stranger. All of the sudden, it seemed like a very terrifying possibility. It had crossed his mind before, sure, but one thing was whining and the other believing it. Goliath whined about humanity, but he never truly believed that all hope was lost.  
  
But Puck both whined and was starting to believe it. That was never good. In fact, that was very, very bad. To lose hope would be to give up, and to give up would mean…  
  
Entertaining that possibility was out of the question. He needed to get out of the castle before he went insane.  
  
It was harder than he thought, because he caught himself wondering how the hell was he going to get pass that psycho or what he would do out there. Granted he left the castle and looked for help, what could the clan or the detectives or the richest man in the universe do with that guy?  
  
Once on a pessimist train of thought, it was very hard for Puck to switch lanes. He could only see a disastrous battle where everybody got killed. He knew it was an exaggeration, but still…  
  
Goliath and company would know what to do. They had battled gods and overcome insufferable obstacles, so they had enough experience to deal with this. Puck didn't. Not really.  
  
However, he knew of one thing they couldn't handle.  
  
He turned around and walked closer to the mirror. The image didn't change. It reflected his body against the real, dark bedroom. There was nothing unusual. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling something strange was still going on. That he didn't see it because he wasn't looking hard enough. And he admitted he felt some… curiosity… about it. He wanted to go there, to the spirit room and figure out what it had to do with him and the stranger.  
  
"Darling, are you in there?"  
  
It was a soft feminine voice. Very familiar… it was his wife's.  
  
He perked up alarmed and tried to pinpoint where it was coming from. He looked around his bedroom chamber, to the closet to the desk and finally to the closed door of his bathroom. Of all the places, it had to be a bathroom.  
  
He hurried over there and tried to open the door, but it was locked.  
  
"Darling, are you in there? Darling, are you all right?"  
  
* * *  
  
"Just a minute…"  
  
God, I look awful. What is this…a hangover? Funny, I don't remember going drinking last night…I have a headache, I've had a headache all morning…did I take my aspirin? Damn, I don't remember…  
  
The room looks so shiny today…  
  
And I've got bags under my eyes. I look at myself in the mirror and I notice I got one blue eye and one brown eye…Lord, I hate it when this happens…  
  
* * *  
  
"Look at me, look at me, Meg, I'm right here!" Puck found himself pounding a door with almost all he got.  
  
"Shit!" he shrieked in frustration as he jiggled the doorknob but it didn't open. It was the door to his bedroom's bathroom. His own damn bathroom, where he could've sworn he head his wife calling out for him.  
  
He tried to cool off, reasoning that she had no reason to be inside the bathroom to begin with. Of all the places she could've gone in the castle, why the blazes would she pick the bathroom?  
  
Still, that didn't stop him from putting his ear to the door and kick it some more.  
  
"Fuck!" he cried out. Though never one to be so colorful, nobody was listening, so he guessed it was ok for him to keep yelling, "Dammit, somebody get this fuckin' door open!"  
  
He pounded the door once more and kicked it in contempt because… because!  
  
Ever since the sun fell, it just keeps getting weirder and weirder for me…I wonder if it's the same for Hudson and Alex… wonder if they're around at all… but where are they? There's nowhere to go…then again… he only wants me, don't he?  
  
Or maybe they're just dead already.  
  
How the hell was he going to explain this to Xanatos? How the hell was he going to explain this to his wife? "Hon, I think Hudson and the boy are dead, and I heard your voice coming from the bathroom…"  
  
Well, it wouldn't be the first time she'd had to put up with his explanations… or lack thereof.  
  
He heard the intruder's voice again, "When I extend my invitation, your whole life flashes through your mind… and you can't help but focus on the regrets and the might-have-beens. It's happened to many others before you and it'll continue happening as long as everybody lives."  
  
He regretted not telling her the truth.  
  
It was in this moment of supreme stupidity, in the worse possible time, that he realized such. He regretted that he never introduced her to Johnson, never explaining to her what happened that lost night, never planning a proper reconciliation between his world and hers.  
  
Only the first one had been truly out of his control. The old man politely turned down the invitation to the wedding that he never approved. The last two were merely cowardice from his part and there was no excuse.  
  
Why the blazes was he thinking these things when he needed to get out of the castle? The only viable plan, off the top of his head, was to reach the elevator and hit the down button like there was no tomorrow. Granted, it was not much of a plan, but he couldn't teleport or fly away from a balcony like usual. He could only zip about a couple of meters off the ground. Tossing himself off the building would be suicide.  
  
But suddenly, the mere idea of trying to escape looked unattractive and impractical and he didn't felt like carrying it out.  
  
He thought of Meg again.  
  
He thought of nothing but Meg.  
  
Meg, light of his life, sugar in his coffee, woman he loved for reasons he still didn't quite understood.  
  
Even this morning she had babied him and cajoled him into taking his medicine, no matter how much he complained that he didn't need it because he hated being sick. She made him gulp down two aspirins every four or something like that, only—  
  
Only he didn't take the very last dose.  
  
He blinked and struggled to remember. Why not the last dose? He remembered he was too tired and forgot all about it. Strange. He hardly fell asleep with medication. Curiouser and curiouser.  
  
He felt he was missing something here, but it was insignificant considering his real problems right now.  
  
"So once again, you choose to ignore the reality of the situation?"  
  
  
  
8 PART SEVEN  
  
"So once again, you choose to ignore the reality of the situation? You disappoint me, Mr. Burnett."  
  
Puck let out a yelp and jumped backwards, tripping over a tossed shoe and landing on the bed in a halfway-sit down position. Getting over his surprise and trying to regain some dignity, he stood up again and adjusted his shirt, then grabbed the bed-sheet that was dragging in the floor and shoved it onto the bed.  
  
Puck tried his best to portray an image of self-control and picked it up where the stranger left off, "…And what reality is the monsieur talking about?"  
  
The stranger shook his head and sighed, "I'm not here to spell it out to you. If I start to explain it, you won't understand. And when you understand, you will pretend not to. And when the truth sinks in, you will bargain. When bargain fails, you'll turn angry and lash out. When you realize lashing out won't do you any good, you will be sad… very sad… and eventually, you will come around and learn to accept that which you cannot change, then you'll take my invitation and you'll walk away, not like a hero, but like defeated fool. While it may sound lovely, our window out of here shrinks as we speak, and I've no patience to see you go through all of that to say the same thing I've been saying all along: that you've never had a chance."  
  
"I… see…" Puck replied, unconsciously tightening his fists much like his better side, "Well, then…" he said with sarcasm, "I guess you'll have no choice but to put up with my ramblings… because never in the seven hells shall I leave with you!"  
  
Without any warning, the intruder struck him. That is to say, he raised his left arm up high and slapped the fey across the face with the back of the hand. It was strong enough to make him do a 180 degree turn and land headfirst into the bed.  
  
Still not quite over the blatant physical violence against him, Puck was also mystified over the pain he felt. It shouldn't hurt that much. Goddamit, it hurt! He faced the stranger and said in a choked shriek, "What the hell is wrong with you!?"  
  
"What the hell is wrong with you!?" the stranger barked back. He grabbed Puck by an arm, hauled him to his feet and began shaking him as he screamed, "You made me do it! Don't make a mistake! You made me do it!"  
  
When faced with the prospect of physically defending himself, Puck didn't shrink back. Just like he'd done a thousand times at kempo with Xanatos, he grabbed his opponent's arm, twisted it back just so, delivered a high kick to his abdomen using his knee then grabbed him by the hair and slammed it into the bed's wooden post.  
  
His pretty elfish face now had a big purple spot in his forehead to match his hair, and Puck slammed his face against the post one more time for good measure. He let go of his hair and tossed him on the bed while he took several agitated steps back.  
  
Then he noticed something sticky in his hands.  
  
He stared at his right hand, then rubbed his two fingers together. It felt like paint and it looked crème colored. "Make-up!" he muttered out loud, "Max Factor make-up!?"  
  
"You son-of-a-bitch!" the stranger screamed as he lunged at him.  
  
The deranged man jumped off the bed and slammed himself against Puck, toppling them both down. Once on top of Puck, he grabbed him by the neck and attempted to choke him.  
  
It wasn't like they needed air to breathe, but Puck did indeed start seeing dots in his vision; dots that nevertheless allowed him to notice something peeling away from his forehead and create something of a hole, a hole that revealed a bright light inside. "Look what you made me do!" the intruder was crying, "Look what you made me do!"  
  
Wide-eyed and still being choked to death, Puck did the only thing he could do: try to peel away whatever the hell that thing on top of him had for a face.  
  
He let go of his neck and grabbed Puck's hands instead. "What are you doing?!" he spat.  
  
"What do you think, you freak!?" Puck spat back. He could see that coming from his forehead more clearly now. His whole face seemed to be a mask, and he was much surprised to discover only light behind it. He was like an empty shell of a man, a man made of light.  
  
"Don't you see?!" the stranger continued, completely agitated, still pinning Puck down with his whole body, violently shaking him as he spoke, "Don't you get it!? Don't you know what you're up against!?"  
  
"No, I don't!" Puck replied testy, "And quite frankly, I'm not interested!"  
  
That spoken, he kicked his opponent in the gut again, then bit him in one of the arms that held him down. Puck somehow managed to shove him off, get to his feet and run out the bedroom like he was on fire.  
  
Outside, he was greeted rudely.  
  
For the knight that had tormented Alex before was waiting for him. As soon as he took a step out the door, the heavy armor took it upon itself to give him a right hook with its iron gloved hand.  
  
The pain and the iron were too much for Puck. He sent hurling to the ground, and though he tried to get on his knees, the mind-bending pain he felt on his head made him see triple of everything.  
  
Ultimately, he fell down and couldn't get up. Not anymore.  
  
* * *  
  
(He then went back to that place. The dull brown office with the fluffy brown leather loveseat he learned to like. He remembered everything, every painting and sculpture and faux carpet the man changed every so often for the sake of novelty. He hadn't known why he thought of the old man so much that night, but now he knew. It was so simple. He just wanted to see him again. He missed that damned quack and all his impertinent questions.)  
  
"I knew you'd be back." the old man said as he reclined on his seat with a knowing smile of someone purposely out to agitate him.  
  
He chuckled besides himself, "I am not back, Johnson." He quietly explained, "I'm home, being attacked by a deranged psychopath and just recently got my lights punched out. This is all in my imagination."  
  
He knew that the old man knew he was right. Dr. Johnson was only a figment of his imagination, based on someone he once knew and hadn't seen for a quite awhile, but was quite anxious to see again. Even if it was only in his imagination.  
  
"So." He began.  
  
"So." the old man repeated.  
  
He gave him a look and said, "Say something comforting, dammit."  
  
"I'm just a figment of your imagination, Mr. Burnett. Not my fault you ran out of things for me to say."  
  
He scoffed softly. "Dammit… I've never felt so alone as I am now…" he said in a whisper, "It's like everybody disappeared tonight, even Hudson and Alex, and I'm left to my own devices against… whoever that thing is."  
  
"And in your desperation…" the old man continued, "You reach out for me. That annoying quack that constantly challenged you to battle. I think —therefore, you think, as I am merely a part of your imagination— that you're a masochist."  
  
"No. Yes." He shook his head in frustration, "I don't know…" But then something dawned on him, something important.  
  
He stared at the old man, the image of that old… friend, he guessed he could call him… and was surprised with the amount of detail he remembered. Every wrinkle in his forehead, every disapproving look he gave him, he remembered it all. But why? Why him, of all people? Why not his wife, of Xanatos, or Goliath?  
  
"He told me… the stranger… that my subconscious was trying to tell me something but I couldn't take the hint…" he paused, "…I think I need to tap into that subconscious…" he looked up to the old man, "…and I think you're it."  
  
The old man said nothing in return for a few moments. Then: "Have you been sleeping well?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Have you been sleeping ok? No bad dreams?"  
  
"How the hell did you always know when I had bad dreams?"  
  
"You always knew how. You always knew Xanatos told on you, but you never admitted it. Anyway, have you been sleeping well?"  
  
"Yes…" he admitted, "No bad dreams in a long time."  
  
"Good. But I'm gonna write you up something. Just in case, of course." The doctor took out his notepad and scribbled something. He tore the slip away and gave it to him. "Now," he continued, "Last time we talked, you invited me to your wedding."  
  
"And you declined. You disapproved. I just recently realized how much that hurt. But I never understood why."  
  
"You've always known why." The old man chuckled, "You just said it. I disapproved."  
  
"But didn't you believe me when I said things would be different with Meg? I swore to myself I would tell her—"  
  
"—only you didn't. And here we are."  
  
He was about to argue, but just as soon realized there was no point. "No, I didn't." he finally admitted. "I didn't. And she's always so… patient! She nudges me, but won't really pressure me. She once raised a fuzz in the Adrian business, but decided it wasn't worth it. I wish she'd raise a fuzz again so I could tell her."  
  
"You don't have to wait. You can tell her next time you see her. What's stopping you? Only your fear of disapproval, of course. But you got to have more faith on her if things are going to work out. You don't have to wait for the other shoe to fall. You can stop it from falling at all."  
  
Groaning quietly, he mumbled, "But where do I start…?"  
  
"You can start with me." The old man replied, "You can start with the Three that gave you that magic you hate and started it all. Or," he conspiratorially leaned towards him, "you can start by explaining why you hid those sleeping pills I gave you…"  
  
He blinked and quickly reached into his pocket to take out the prescription. Amazingly enough, he could read his doctor's intelligible writing. Tylenol, it said, with that strange cursive font.  
  
He stared at it dumbly, because it didn't make any sense at first. What did Meg's painkillers had to do with anything? Sure, she'd given him some that morning, because he had a headache—  
  
Then he understood.  
  
* * *  
  
Waking up seemed so much harder now.  
  
He opened his eyes to find himself lying on the restroom's white marble floor in the west wing. The sink's faucet was still opened and water overflowed. There was a fairly big puddle of water on the floor. It already managed to drench part of his hair and his left arm. He'd been lying on the floor for quite awhile.  
  
He tried to get up but couldn't. He felt too weak. He was lying on his left side and his legs was already asleep. So he stayed there for awhile. He felt so weak. He tried to move, he really tried, but he couldn't feel anything anymore. Only a very faint tingling all over his body, just enough to let him know all body parts were in place.  
  
The overflowing water of the sink made the puddle of water grow bigger and bigger.  
  
Even though he couldn't turn his face to the door, he heard someone trying to turn the knob. It was locked. The bathroom was locked; he'd locked it just before he fainted. He thought he locked it. Did he bolt the door? He had been about to faint and the restroom was growing black, but he thought he saw his own hand bolt the door before he gave in.  
  
The person stopped fiddling with the knob. He heard a knock instead, and a polite voice saying things he couldn't understand.  
  
He stopped paying attention anyway. Everything felt so far away. What was happening to him anyway? What had she given him? Horse tranquilizer? He only had a headache and now…  
  
Whoever was outside the door said something again but the voice sounded garbled and distant. He wasn't too worried. They would come and get him later on. They would have to open the door. It would take all night. But they had time, because he wasn't going anywhere.  
  
No.  
  
Nononono.  
  
* * *  
  
The old man's office was gone and it's image was replaced by a very familiar ceiling. He was staring up towards the ceiling, though it hardly mattered anymore, being preoccupied with far more distressing thoughts.  
  
He could almost feel the tears gathering in his eyes. "…I forgot…" he said in an insignificant voice, "…I didn't want to tell her…I didn't want to… so I…" he could barely choke a sob, "…so I switched the bottles… I had a headache this morning… it was in my desk, she must've… why didn't she take the ones in our bathroom?…these things pack a punch…"  
  
He mumbled things he could hardly understand himself, until he finally vocalized that dreaded questions. "…how many did I take…?"  
  
"Lots." The boy replied. "Lots. Two every so hours, am I right? Three, if you're really desperate. But you're right. These things…" he shook the time bottle in his hand, "…pack a punch…"  
  
Flat on his back, still too disturbed to move or think straight, was Puck. Flat on his back, he was staring up the ceiling when the stranger moved into his line of view and said those things and shook his bottle.  
  
He uncomfortably raised his head to see down the hall; the iron knight was back where he belonged. He dropped his head back, let it rest on the stone floor and dumbly stared up at the man looking down at him.  
  
He still had that piercing in his forehead. Light leaked from it and it brightened most of the dark hallway, almost like a flashlight. Behind that mask, there was only light. He was shallow and unreal in more ways than one.  
  
In a whisper, he mumbled, "…why all this subterfuge…?"  
  
"What subterfuge? I told you before. When I extend my invitation, your whole life flashes through your mind…" He bent down to get a little closer to him. "…Rather, when you're about to die, your whole life flashes through your mind. Or so the saying goes."  
  
"What the hell are you?"  
  
"What the hell do you think I am?" the man teased, "I am whatever you want me to be. I could be God or the devil. I could be death incarnate. I could be like you, one of the unlucky receipts of that Talisman trinket you were duped to have, fancy that? Or I could be something else entirely. Something more subtle, something with more style… but in the end, I am a way to get you out of this twilight and into a land where birds sing and there's always music in the air. A land you know nothing about, except that you're going there."  
  
"You know… what I think…?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"…that that place is all bullshit…"  
  
The stranger merely smiled.  
  
"I'm not going anywhere with you."  
  
"Then where will you go?"  
  
Puck seemed to consider it for a moment. "The spirit room. I want to go to the spirit's room."  
  
The intruder immediately frowned.  
  
"Because…" Puck continued, not to the intruder, but to something, somewhere else, someplace far away, "…I know what you are. But never in my wildest… I never knew… I never knew you were alive!" The stranger's face distorted in anger but Puck continued to twist the knife. Staring back at him, Puck slowly sat up straight, and with a challenging gaze he muttered, "You're supposed to do whatever I want, don't you?"  
  
"Screw you!" the intruder replied, "Why, I've never in my whole existence encountered such a pathetic whining host like you! Damn if those three idiots screwed up bad before, cuz' you are the single most stubborn creature I've ever had the misfortune of being stuck in!"  
  
The intruder kept ranting, but Puck merely stared at him like it was the most absurd creature that ever walked the earth. He felt no mockery, nor any pity, but a very deep fascination with that thing.  
  
"…because you are nothing but a ghost…" he continued out loud, much to the annoyance of those present, "…I never knew it was alive…"  
  
"If it makes you feel any better, I'm not." The creature responded, "That's the funny thing with us Talismans… so much power spending centuries in and out of bodies, we eventually grow a conscience…" He shrugged, "More or less."  
  
Puck thought back to the three demons that started it all seven years ago. Did they even know the trinkets they were giving away had the capability of thought? That Talisman, that trinket… so much power had a tendency to have its own consciousness. It explained so many things, like those little voices that commented things that usually didn't make sense, but still…  
  
"…and you want to meld with me…?" Puck summed up.  
  
"Like it or not," his opponent said hotly, "I'm here forever. And you have no idea how charming the idea of you locking my power —your power, magic and my very essence— away for the rest of eternity. Either way, now you simply got to. You do know what's happening to you, don't you? You've had one too many sleeping pills, Mr. Burnett, and you are dying. Either you embrace your damn powers or you'll die. Got that? Die! I want out! Let me out and I assure you, oh, you'll see so many things and experience something so wonderful you'll never want to come back."  
  
"But…" Puck interrupted, "If I give myself up to you…" he sighed heavily, "Me as I know it will cease to be…that's what happened that night…" he closed his eye and mumbled, "…that's what happened that night, didn't it Hudson? I lost myself and you and the others had to come back and look for me… damn…"  
  
"A sacrifice I'm willing to make." The intruder said dryly.  
  
Puck gave him a dark look and burst, "Oh, yeah!? Well, I'm not!" he stood up in a quick jump and was right up his intruder's face. "I still refuse you, trinket! It's my damn body and I'm still in charge! The answer's still no and I will never give in. I refuse you…Just like day one."  
  
The stranger lost all his humor and looked grim and serious. Then he gave him a twisted, bitter smile. "Fine…" he hissed, "Fine! Do whatever you want. I really don't care, because I have time. I have all the time in the world to wait for you, because you're not going anywhere. We're in this together, Mr. Burnett. And when you least expect it, it'll be me calling the shots and making love to your wife. Me! Slip up one more time and I'll be there!"  
  
"Then," Puck replied with an unmistakable smirk, "You're in for a long wait."  
  
* * *  
  
The light was unbearable.  
  
His arm hurt too. He tried to tilt his head to see what they'd done to his right arm. All he saw was white tape wrapped around an IV line and a stand with several bags of serum. His whole arm hurt. The thing they pumped into his blood felt like acid.  
  
A woman dressed in white walked in, pushing an odd little cart. She let out a small gasp when their eyes met, then tried to give him an assuring smile. He wanted to say something, but he was too tired to say anything. She walked out of the room and he thought he heard her say that he was awake.  
  
He looked around the room. It was white. Light irradiated from the ceiling, from the soft light lamps. They were hard to look at, but it was understandable. He wondered whether it was day or night. He couldn't tell, there were no windows to look out.  
  
Satisfied with his inspection, he found it to be exactly what he expected. He settled with accommodating himself a little better in the bed and wait it out. He wasn't going anywhere for the moment, and he was pleased. Everything in the room was the same image he saw once in a dream mirror in the land between twilight and sunrise, that time of unending night, where he was all alone and things went bump in the dark.  
  
His wife's visit would greatly cheer him up. He would've made up his mind by then and he would take it from the top, just like he should've done a long time ago. The old man would be so proud. Or he would've looked at him with 'I-told-you-so' written all over his face, Owen wasn't sure yet.  
  
But the most important thing would be that Meg would understand. He didn't need to fear divine retribution if he had nothing to hide from her. A spell broken.  
  
Another thing that would cheer him up was sunrise. After spending so much time in the dark, it was so pleasant, even amazing, to see the sun creep out of the horizon and engulf the sky. Another spell broken.  
  
Today will be all about breaking spells, won't it? He thought as he gazed out a window, the cold of the morning making him shiver a little.  
  
  
  
9 EPILOGUE  
  
Back to the box.  
  
Always back to the box.  
  
He tried, he really did, to make him see things his way. He'd learned so much in the process too. He'd never experienced anger before, for example. Exasperating, he thought, but interesting experience indeed. He had had some idea of it though, but the creature's senses could be so dull at times.  
  
But now things were going to be different, weren't they? Back when things were dull, it was easy to go to sleep and ignore everything that was going on. But no more. Though it was far from perfect, everything had been turned up a few degrees and it was easier to perceive things…  
  
That weepy confession to the wife, for example. He could've done without the guilt and the sappy talk about true love. At least she understood, he'd gathered that much before everything lost its focus.  
  
Oh, there's that feeling again. Exasperation. He didn't want to lose connection just yet.  
  
With exasperation, however, there came a sense of calm. Because everything lost focus for a moment, it would be back. And he would be waiting for it. Because he wasn't going anywhere.  
  
FIN  
  
  
  
Author's note: Ah, so you read the whole thing! Thank yous abound for the proofreaders that go above and beyond the call of duty to, you know, proofread the fic. Email me at paganj@caribe.net Apologies to Joyce Carol Oats, author of "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Being?", from which this fic was inspired. Thank you to my English teacher, for cramming it down my throat in the first place. Excellent story, for required reading anyway. 


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